The Beauty Beneath
by JacobApples
Summary: AU Fourth Book. Fleur was the champion of her school, she was more than a 2D character, more than a pretty face. Harry Potter was destined to be Dark Lord's equal, the next Albus Dumbledore. And the Triwizard Tournament was meant to only have three companies. No godmoding. Dyslexic author. Written for reviewers' Fleur/Harry pairing requests.
1. The Beauty Beneath

Dyslexia: I have it, grammar and spelling mistakes happen even after I send it through three words processors (Grammarly included) and my luck with betas as well. If you have a problem with mistakes go buy a published book.

Disclaimer: JKR owns all her rights.

Summary: After many, _many_ , requests I have decided to dabble in a Fleur/Harry pairing. It always bothered me that Fleur sucked in the tournaments and four champions always seemed like one too many. This AU is the what if of being a Fleur kickass and more than a 2D character _and_ the what if of Harry being the only Hogwarts Champion. Also, Harry will not be godmoding but he will have the equal potential of Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore in their youths.

P.S. Neither Beauxbatons nor Durmstrang were an all girls or all boys school despite what the movies show us.

Chapter 1

Fleur's feet struck the ground, jarring her body, but she didn't let up, didn't slow for an instant. She didn't hear the crowd screaming at her or her fake friends chanting her name or the boys jeering at her.

There were eight boys ahead of her. Eight.

She smiled even as she sucked in air through her teeth.

Eight was nothing.

The finish line was in sight and she kicked it into the next gear. She couldn't feel her legs; she didn't need to. One by one she passed them because she was faster than them, better than them. Not because of her hair, or her eyes, or her Veela powers, but because she worked harder, pushed harder. Because at the end of the day she was intelligent, powerful, and an athlete. She might not have any true friends outside of her sister, but one day someone would see her strength before they saw her looks.

She passed the last boy. He was the top runner in their school. His name was Gary Schultz and his father had won the muggle Tour-de-France some years back. Fleur saw from the corner of her eye Schultz struggling to keep up.

But she didn't spare him as much attention as he was sparing her, which is why when the final magical trap was sprung, she leaped over the snapping giggle warts, which if they made contact with sweating skin would cause boils that when popped released a giggling sound. It was quite disturbing as well as painful. Schultz tripped over the trap and rolled into them.

Fleur put her hands on her head and tilted back, trying to get air into her lungs. Her body was a warm tingling, an exhausted mass of receding adrenaline, but she was victorious.

'Fitness Pratique' at the Beauxbatons Academy was a serious class, it went hand in hand with Defense Against the Dark Arts and Magical Creatures because the belief and the truth was that in matters of self-defense dueling was not an idle event, nor was being chased by some mythical monster muggles could only dream about.

In Fitness Pratique (FP), everyone battled against everyone else. It was the one course that the boys more than often had the leg up in. Not because witches were weak or slow but because the average healthy wizard had more muscles.

And Fleur had just beaten everyone in the Seventh and Sixth years at the start of term evaluation.

She had trained all summer for this moment.

Her hearing came back to her in pieces as the adrenaline simmered and she grained control over her breathing.

And the first thing she heard was, "She only won because she isn't human."

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of worms over her head.

Fleur didn't know why she was surprised as she spun on her heal and walked stiffly to the girls changing rooms and the showers. Ignoring the people who heaped praise and adoration on her. None of their words mattered. They didn't know her, couldn't see past or get over her physical beauty.

Because at the end of the day she wasn't a person to any of them, she was just another Veela.

The Triwizard Tournament was coming up. Perhaps there she could make a statement. Being top of her class, of her generation, apparently wasn't enough. But if she became the Triwizard Tournament things would have to be different. After all, history wouldn't remember her face, they would remember her name; Fleur Delacour, the first half breed to win the Triwizard Cup.

The thought didn't cheer her as she banged open the locker room doors. No, she wasn't a practically cheery witch in the least. But she was determined.

* * *

It didn't seem to matter that there was so much new happening, Ron and Hermione were bickering -as always.

Harry was just happy at the thought that spotlight would be off him for a while. The Triwizard Tournament was bound to hold most people's attention over whatever made up rumours about the 'Boy Who Lived' were cycling around.

 _At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"_

Harry lifted the plate before turning around. Shifting in his seat, he handed it to the girl who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech.

"Are you sure you are done with it?" she asked.

Her voice was the first thing about her Harry realized to be beautiful.

He nodded, "There is always more food at these feasts than anyone could eat anyway."

She smiled, her deep blue eyes catching the light, they were the darkest blue Harry had ever seen.

" _Merci_ ," she said before turning to return to her seat at the Ravenclaw table.

When Harry rejoined the conversation he found everyone -excluding Hermione, to be staring at him oddly.

Ron's face was purple.

"What?" Harry asked.

" _She's a Veela_ ," Ron said exasperated, the others nodded but turned back to their food.

Hermione scoffed, "No, she isn't."

"Look around, Hermione! Harry is the only one who acted like his normal oblivious self."

"Oi!" Fred said leaning forward so he could see down the table, "Who's calling Harry oblivious?"

"It can't be our idiot little brother, can it Fred?" George asked rhetorically. "He's the most oblivious of them all."

The twins laughed at their own joke as Ron scowled at them both.

Harry looked back over his shoulder at Fleur. She had long silvery blonde hair that fell to her waist and a lean form that made him think she would be a good flyer. Although it was true that she was pretty, he didn't see what was making the other wizards go speechless around her or the other witches to glare at her.

Harry's gaze slipped to Cho Chang and all thoughts of Beauxbatons students drifted from his mind.

* * *

AN: If you want more please, please share your desires, thoughts, and reactions with me?


	2. The Goblet

AN: Nobody forces me to write, but suggestions do make me think and thinking sometimes leads to story ideas. So while kind of many of you to be affronted for me, I assure you I am too stubborn a person to write something I don't want to.

 **The Beauty Beneath** : This story is very experimental so what happens happens, I almost am envisioning a breakneck speed for it until we get to book six and seven. I have some plans to make that smooth transition that will either work brilliantly or crash spectacularly.

 **Tabby Cat** : When I reread the books in Hindi and French I will pick it back up (that will be a long wait).

 **Sirius Black and the Sorting Hat** : Same condition as Tabby Cat with the addition of when the mood strikes me.

 **Broken Reflections** : On hold until after the new movie comes out because I want to bring in some different characters ;)

 **What We Lost** : Working on it now but understand that it is only a few steps away from being an original novel and it takes a lot of work to sort and write out.

 **Found in the Ashes** : The sequel to What We Lost and the re-imagining of Disorder of the Phoenix will come out after 'What We Lost' is completed. It will be a stand alone Harmeda ;)

Chapter 2 - The Goblet

"And for Hogwarts," Albus announced grandly. "H-arry Potter?" The Headmaster's voice stumbled and he turned a glare onto Harry. As did everyone else. Well aside from the foreign students who were all sharing the same thought.

 _A fourth year? He's dead._

"NO!" The protest came from Harry and Hermione in unison.

Albus's face went cold, "It is your name that came from the Goblet, Harry."

"But it wasn't me who put my name in the Goblet, Professor," Harry said just as coldly, too scared and too angry to check himself. Oh, but Merlin, did ever he hate Halloween.

"Did you have an older student put your name in for you?" Albus asked.

"No!" Harry all but shouted. "I find myself in enough trouble as it is without seeking it out. With my luck, I won't make it through the first task."

"So you didn't put your name in the Goblet?" he asked again.

"No, I didn't," Harry said more solidly.

"Liar," Snape drawled.

Harry glared at him and he turned back to Albus, staring deep into his eyes, and even from a distance, Harry could tell there was no twinkle in those blue eyes now. "I don't want to die," he said it slowly and very clearly.

The rest of the room seemed too still, as if it were finally sinking in that this was a fourth year about to go into a tournament that had claimed lives before. Sure, it might be Harry Potter, but how often in the last three years had Harry spent in the hospital wing?

Albus sighed, "If you don't compete, Harry, then you will lose your magic, such is the power of the Goblet of Fire."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. With Voldemort still out there, losing his magic would be an automatic death sentence.

Hermione squeezed his hand.

Harry's shoulders slumped. People got out of his way, no one cheered as Harry walked to the champion's room. He walked as a condemned man to the gallows.

"Looks like Hogwarts doesn't even have a chance at the cup, thanks, Potter."

Harry didn't know who had said it, but it didn't matter. Whoever had said it was right, and they all knew it.

* * *

Fleur hadn't expected any specific student from Hogwarts, they were all strangers to her after all, but perhaps who she hadn't expected was the green eyed boy she met that first night.

"He's too young," she heard herself saying.

His green eyes met hers and just like that first night, he didn't react to her the way almost every other boy did.

He looked tired, achingly so.

"Nevertheless the Goblet chose him," one of the ministry men said, "The age line was put around the Goblet of Fire, not on the Goblet itself. If it chose Potter than Potter was the best suited out of the Hogwarts students."

Harry scoffed but didn't voice a complaint, all the adults ignored him. Fleur and Viktor exchanged a look. Where was the glory in beating a kid?

But then Fleur processed what the man said, "Wait, did you say, Potter? As in Harry Potter?"

"That's right," the man said proudly, "Harry Potter." He said it almost possessively as if Harry were some national treasure and not a terrified boy who might lose his life in a game he had no business playing in.

The raven haired boy rolled his eyes, "Yeah, the Great Boy Who Lived. The guy who's famous for causing the death of everyone around him on old Hallow's Eve."

There was such bitterness in his voice Fleur almost flinched. She knew the story, everyone did. After all, there was exactly one person who had survived the killing curse, and the story of a baby taking out a dark lord was quite fantastical. But looking at the legend in the flesh, she couldn't help but acknowledge that while the story was amazing, the boy who had lost both his parents probably wasn't awed by it.

 _How would it feel?_ She wondered, _How would it feel to be constantly reminded that your parents were dead and be famous for the night they died?_

The adults in the room talked on. Fleur and Viktor watched Harry.

He said nothing in his defense. Not when the professors yelled at him, accused him of wrongdoing, talked down to him, talked over him. It was like he wasn't there. But of course he was, and he would be at the mercy of whatever decision was made without him.

Fleur looked towards the Durmstrang Champion, and he was already looking at her. He met her gaze and gave a discreet nod. They might be competitors but they weren't about to let an innocent lose his life, not like everyone else in the room seemed all too willing to allow.

* * *

"How could you not tell me?" Ron asked Harry as they were going up the steps.

"Not tell you what? That, someone, was trying to kill me, _again_. Sorry, I don't know my assassin's schedules, but when I get a hold of them I'll be sure to take notes."

Ron shook his head, "How could you not tell me you put your name in the Goblet? How did you get past the age line? Not even the twins could get past it."

Harry glared at his best friend, "Are you even hearing me? I didn't put my name in the Goblet."

"Sure, whatever."

"What is your problem, Ron?"

"My problem is that you might act like the innocent victim but somehow you always get to play the famous hero, don't you?"

"I don't know what-"

They stepped into the Gryffindor common room and were greeted with a roar of sound. A full-fledged celebration when all Harry wanted to do was curl up in bed.

Ron made a disgusted sound. Harry watched helplessly as the crowd swallowed him up and his friend departed.

* * *

As the weeks passed, people left him alone. Some Gryffindors gave him well meaning advice and professors pitied him. Aside from being left alone, nothing helped. Well except for Hermione.

Hermione and Harry had the most rigorous study schedule out of anyone in the school.

Not knowing what the task was, they studied everything and anything they could get their hands on. Hermione was in high heaven but Harry, well Harry looked like he was on verge of mental breakdown.

He ate with a book, he stayed in the common room until midnight he had completed both his homework and the extra spells.

When the weather was good, Hermione and Harry could be found sparring by the lake and when the weather was bad they found an empty classroom.

The twins took to helping them out. And the twins were probably the sole reason why Harry was passing potions following October seeing as Snape refused to let Harry and Hermione be partners.

Although Harry thought this was less Snape being his painful self and more for the classroom's safety as Hermione was Neville's partner.

One week before the first task, Harry felt immense guilt when Hagrid, who outside of Magical Creatures he had not visited once, sent him a note via Hedwig.

* * *

Dragons.

Mother-Merlin-Bloody-Fire-Smoking dragons.

And Harry was going to get the Horntail. He could feel it deep in his bones he was going to get the Horntail.

Harry ran back through the forest not caring how much noise he made. All those transfiguration spells, potions, and defense charms he had been learning would mean nothing to a dragon.

Harry paused on the edge of the forest.

 _What am I going to do?_

Harry tried to think of something practical. The thought that came to him wasn't exactly helpful but it gave himself something to do. Madame Maxime had seen the dragons. She would definitely tell Fleur Delacour which meant that Viktor would be the only one who didn't know about the dragons.

Harry didn't really care that he was only fourteen and they were seventeen. By his estimation, anyone in their teens was too young to face a mother dragon alone.

With this in mind a cloak concealing him he snuck to the Durmstrang 'dorms.' Getting onto the boat wasn't that hard finding Viktor was another task altogether. Eventually, Harry thought to use the point me charm. Which led him to the back of the boat and down two hallways.

When he came to a door that was identical to three of the surrounding doors he knocked, trusting his wand.

Viktor opened the door a moment later with his typical stoic expression.

"Who's there?" he asked in heavily accented English, drawing his wand.

Harry poked his head out from the cloak.

Viktor just managed to keep from hexing him.

"Potter?"

"It's about the task," Harry said in a hushed voice, "I have news."

Viktor stared at him for a long moment before pushing open his door, inviting Harry in.

Harry walked in and took off his cloak once Viktor shut the door. The room was quite spacious with large windows overlooking the lake.

Harry didn't waste time on idle chatter. "Dragons," he said simply. "The first task is dragons."

Viktor's eyes widened but beyond that, he showed no other outward sign of emotion.

Harry went on, "I don't think we have to fight them but we do have to get by them. Oh, and as an added threat they are all mother dragons."

Viktor's eyes narrowed, "Why tell me 'is?"

"Because," he said making direct eye contact. "I'm not the only one who could die here."

"Why not tell the Beauxbaton girl?"

"Her Headmistress knows, so I would imagine Fleur Delacour will know by the end of the night."

Viktor took in a deep breath, "No guts, no glory."

Harry frowned, "I have enough glory and I would rather not be gutted."

"I meant, if it wasn't dangerous it wouldn't be an accomplishment."

"Well speaking as someone who killed and was almost killed by a basilisk, I would rather leave the dragons alone. It seems smarter."

Viktor gave Harry a sharp look, "A basilisk? They don't exist."

Harry smiled, "This is Hogwarts, my friend, many things that shouldn't exist do."

Viktor was getting the distinct feeling that 'Harry Potter' was a bit of a nutter, but then there were those who said the same about him. Quidditch was not the safest game in the wizarding world. "You would call me friend?"

Harry shrugged, "Why not? I care more about surviving than winning this tournament."

Viktor nodded, "Fleur and I have been training together."

Harry's emerald eyes went wide behind his glasses, "I thought you guys would be enemies."

"Our professors don't know, but as you said, survival is more important than winning."

"Can't win if you're dead," Harry agreed.

"We thought of including you, but you are watched quite closely. You should join us."

Harry hesitated for a moment, "Only if Hermione can join too."

Color seemed to rise to Viktor's cheeks, he coughed to clear his throat before he spoke, "Acceptable, she seems to be a brilliant witch."

Harry smiled again, "She is."

"You had better leave before the dock is closed for the night."

Harry left and on his way out he caught sight of Viktor's broom.

An idea occurred to him as he made his way up to the castle. He probably couldn't out fly a dragon, but if the dragon was chained or in a small cage, well, flying had always been his best thing.

* * *

KEYNOTE: This time lapse chapter is less than four weeks. The spells Hermione and Harry are learning the same as cannon up to the end of book five. Nothing fancy or obscure.

AN: I realize this is a fast paced fic but I have no interest in rewriting the books and the next chapter will be slower and a plot fleshes out onward from here.

Thoughts and reactions, please?


	3. Trial by Fire

Chapter 3- Trial By Fire

Hermione was a bubble of happy energy. "Do you think they are super advanced? I wonder if they offer any classes we don't? How many languages do you imagine they speak? Do you think their Wizarding culture is different from ours? I've read mention of the other schools, of course. but I never found any good books about them. I should have looked harder. Oh, I wonder-"

Harry smiled and pointed at the door, "We are meeting in here."

"Do I look alright?"

He nodded, "You always do, except maybe during finals' weeks."

She blushed but grinned at him, "Well let's go make friends and learn something."

Hermione squared her shoulders and walked through the door Harry opened for her.

* * *

Fleur decided that she needed to abandon all expectations when it came to Harry, and even Hermione Granger. They were both mature for their age. Hermione had a tendency to babble but she was extraordinarily intelligent. Her wand work was exceptional and her ability to process instructions was almost frightening.

Viktor, who wore Veela charms that not only rendered her allure ineffective but would make her appear repelling to him, seemed very impressed with Ms. Granger. While her hair was distracting, Fleur could see that Hermione was quite pretty in her own right. She wondered if she should warn Harry that his girlfriend might be pursued by another boy.

Harry was like no one Fleur had ever encountered before. He was polite, soft spoken, almost shy, and had enough power to turn their practice dummy into powdered dust with a single Reducto.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking at the pile on the floor.

Fleur and Viktor exchanged a look, perhaps the Goblet had known more than the rest of them.

"No need to apologize," Fleur said, hating how the English words flowed. English was a frustrating language, with some recognizable words from French, the sounds were more awkward. She knew she must sound like a fool when she spoke here. The only thing worse than being a pretty face, was being pretty and dumb.

Viktor nodded and from a piece of wood he pulled from his pocket, he transfigured another training doll.

Hermione vanished the pile of dust and their training continued. They traded spells and battle tricks. Harry's addition to their training party turned out to be more helpful for them than the other way around it seemed. His understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts spell was intimidating. And the sheer variety of spells Hermione knew was practically humbling.

But Fleur and Viktor had Hermione and him both beat in Charms and Transfiguration respectively. Which seemed more due to their age than anything they weren't capable of doing.

As they were competitors they did not discuss specific plans but they did mention things that would be useful against dragons. Starting with the details they found about each type of dragon they had identified.

"So basically," Hermione summarized at the end of their meeting. "Short of a seasoned team of dragonologists you three are in an incredible amount danger no matter what you do."

" _Oui,_ " Fleur said, "But I suppose that's the point of the task."

Harry frowned at the book in front of him, "Why did they have to pick mother dragons? I bet we will have to get something close to the eggs, which means the eggs will be in danger."

"Are you honestly afraid for the baby dragons?" Viktor asked.

"The dragons don't want to be in this game any more than I do. The eggs just seem cruel. Who wants the chance of dying before they even get to breathe in a single breath of fresh air?"

On one hand, Fleur thought that was very sweet, on the other, "Be careful not to worry for the dragons more than yourself."

"Well, I think Harry is right to be concerned," Hermione said, turning up her chin, "And I think it is cruel to put the dragons into a game and I think that all three of you should come up with plans that keep the eggs safe."

"And ourselves," Fleur said under her breath to Viktor.

But Viktor only had eyes for Ms. Granger. Fleur knew from the years after she turned thirteen from having boys direct that look at her what Viktor Krum might do to impress a pretty, clever Hermione Granger.

Fleur just hoped it wouldn't get him or poor Harry killed.

* * *

"I predict-"

 _Death_ , Harry thought, completing Professor Trelawney's 'prediction' boredly in his mind. This class wasn't nearly as much fun without Ron to goof off with.

"Death," Trelawney ranted on.

Harry was staring out a dirty window, wondering how fast he would need to fly to avoid being burnt to a cinder when Trelawney focused in on him.

"Oh, my boy! My poor, poor boy!" she shrieked.

He winced, he hated being called boy. He glared at the professor, not in the mood for her attention.

Lavender was almost in tears.

It was all Harry could do not to roll his eyes.

"Fire," Trelawny moaned, "Fire my dear boy, I see fire, and by fire you shall-"

" _Enough_!" Harry shouted suddenly. He stood, his hands at his sides, "I'm sick of you telling me I'm going to die!"

A few people's mouths were open but Harry didn't stop there, "I am going to die, just like you and everybody else in this room is eventually going to die! But unlike you all who seem to get such entertainment from my life, I'm the one everyone seems to want to kill. So go ahead, predict my death, eventually, you're bound to be right, aren't you? I mean the odds are in your favor, you know if you're hoping for me to kick it."

The room was speechless, staring at him in fascinated horror.

"My dear boy, I'm only trying to prepare yo-" Trelawny began.

But Harry was done. Done with her, done with his classmates gawking at him, and done with Ron averting his eyes around him. Harry was risking his life because the adults couldn't figure out a way to prevent another assassination attempt.

Honestly, he couldn't even count the times he almost died here on one hand. His broomstick in the first year, a troll, unicorn searching in the Forbidden Forest, the Stone, Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head, a house elf, a basilisk, giant spiders, Wormtail, dementors, werewolves, an army of dementors- the list just kept going on and on. Now the Triwizard Tournament. Harry would not call his luck good, but then he did keep surviving.

But what he had said had been true, the odds were against him, and the more chances there were to kill him the more likely someone was to succeed.

Would he die from dragon fire?

Would he die falling to his death from his broom?

Would he be eaten? Flattened by muscles covered in scales?

Or would someone pick him off quietly behind the stands when nobody was around to see?

All this and more flooded Harry's mind as he went in search of his Head of House.

* * *

Minerva's sixth year class was quietly taking a test. Remarkable really, that any class with the Weasley twins -her favorite students though she would croak before admitting such to anyone, could quiet maintain quiet for a prolonged period of time.

Thinking of her favorite students she couldn't help think of Sirius and James, followed by Hermione and Harry. She wondered what James would say if he heard that his son had been entered into the Triwizard Tournament.

Albus had reconnected her to Sirius. On this issue, Sirius had been conflicted. Worried for his godson's safety and a little awed that James's son was the Hogwarts Triwizard Champion. In Minerva's opinion, it was a mark against the man's mental state that he sometimes confused Harry and James. As if a part of Sirius was still trapped in his early twenties when escaping death's clutches was just another part of the game, another part of normal life.

Of course, Sirius was a Black, and having taught two generations worth of Blacks, Minerva knew better than most what that family was, suspected what secrets that family had guarded, what that 'family' might have done to their own to keep them in line.

Minerva worried that the Dursleys might not have been much better in raising Harry, but Harry…

Harry was such a polite and well centered young man, it was hard to imagine he had been through anything to what Sirius had experienced. Hard, but not entirely impossible. That first time she had called him in to meet Wood, Harry had looked at her with eyes filled with such fear. Not fear that she might expel him, no fear that she might physically harm him.

She never wanted any student to look at her again with such- such resigned panic, as if he would have stood there and taken any harm she delt him with a stiff lip. A look that she _had_ seen again when his name was called for the Goblet.

Had James been alive he wouldn't have stood for it. Lily… Lily would have blown the roof off of Albus's office. Minerva had tried to talk Albus into finding a way to let Harry free from the Goblet's contract, but Albus had been adamant that there was no way without risking not only Harry's magic, but the other champions' magic as well.

To be born without magic was one thing, but to have it taken away… it would be like losing all your limbs at once. And for Harry, it would certainly mean his death. Maybe not in his younger years, but eventually, he had far too many enemies to be defenseless.

As if the thought had conjured him, the classroom door creaked open. It wasn't terribly loud but enough so that a few people looked up. Harry's face flushed when he realized there was a class in session but Minerva caught his eye and waved him in.

Closing the door quickly as he was able behind him, he made his way to her desk.

She didn't have to ask the question aloud, she merely arched an eyebrow.

A look of defiance crossed Harry's face and he looked more like his mother in that moment than James. "I am dropping Divinations. It's a useless class," he whispered. Only the first row could have heard him.

She wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment, however, "Electives are required, Mr. Potter." Her own voice wasn't quite a whisper but it did not carry beyond the first row. Some students looked up in curiosity. "Five more minutes," she called causing everyone -excluding the twins, to turn back to their papers in earnest. The sound of quills scratching parchment was louder than Harry's next words.

"Then put me in another class," he said.

"You will be behind in any class I put you in."

"Then put me in with the third years."

"You will not be able to pass your OWLs if you are a year behind."

"Then I fail an elective test, not the end of the world."

She was loathed to admit failing any class was dismissible, but Harry was right, it wasn't the end of the world. Besides, they were talking about Divinations.

"Why do you want to leave Divinations so badly?" she asked, curious as to the breaking point with Trewlawny, he had put up with her for more than a year.

"You mean aside from not learning a blo- not learning anything at all? I am sick of hearing and creating ways for myself and the people around me to die. I would rather listen to Centaur poetry than looking into my teacup for imagined shapes in my tea leaves."

Minerva looked at him, there was a slight trembling in his shoulders, "What did she say today to upset you so, if this is such a regular occurrence?"

"Fire," he said, the word clipped and with more feeling than it might have warranted had Minerva not known, like many in the castle, that the First Task was dragons.

Minerva nodded and said, "Detention then Mr. Potter." She said it for the whole class to hear, "For every day you refuse to go to you divinations class, you will have detention with me." She handed him a spare book of the sixth year transfiguration textbook before addressing the class, "Quills up. Now we will be working conjuring spells. -Have a seat, Mr. Potter, I don't expect you to keep up but I do expect you to pay attention."

Harry went over to sit with the twins who grinned at him. And though Minerva's face didn't show it, she was felt like grinning too. The scheduling being what it was she would now see Mr. Potter four days a week in her class. Separated from his usual friends he might just rise to the occasion.

Some might call it special treatment -excluding Hermione Granger, but not many would envy Harry the sixth year homework, or the prospect of repeating the class if he never returned to Divinations.

But then who could say what the future held? At least with any certainty.

* * *

"So you are taking advanced Transfiguration?" Hermione asked for the dozenth time.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry said with an exaggerated sigh, but he was too happy to be truly annoyed.

The twins were more fun in class if that were even possible and they were far smarter than anyone gave them credit for. They mastered each spell almost quicker than Hermione could and they were better teachers. It had taken the entirety of class but Harry had managed to conjure a pebble.

The rest of the class had managed to conjure glass plates but still, Harry was proud of his pebble.

The twins had laughed and joked with him the entire time, distracting to others, but it took the pressure off without distracting him so much that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing like joking off with Ron often led to.

"I wonder if Prof-" Hermione started.

"Don't even ask. McGonagall told me after class to tell you the answer is no. For me, it is technically detention and besides even if I do- which I will, complete and/or pass this class I'll still have to retake it in my sixth year. Can you imagine how bored you would be if you had to learn a whole year twice?"

Hermione deflated a little at that, "Won't you be bored?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't think I would mind the extra practice, I think I'm always going to be behind and I think the second time around I would like to focus on more detailed work like you can do. My stuff is always pretty bare, and only functional if I'm lucky. Besides McGonagall said I would have to use different writing prompts for all my essays. So it wouldn't be such a waste of time for me."

Hermione bristled, "Implying I would waste my time going above my year?"

"No, I'm saying for someone who eats textbooks and goes the extra steps in every direction there isn't a prompt you wouldn't have an answer to. I learn from researching for essays, you, well, you study so well that I think you should be writing the prompts," Harry said, dodging a ghost as they weaved their way through the crowd to the Great Hall.

"You really think so?"

"I know so, anyway Hermione, didn't we learn last year that you have quite enough classes to be getting on with?"

She smiled at him, "Guess you're right, but when sixth year comes around you will be the one helping me with _my_ homework."

Harry smiled back and was about to respond when a rather tacky dressed witch grabbed him by the arm, her long pink nails digging into his arm.

"There you are," she said, her voice sticky sweet, "I _neeed_ ," she batted her long false eyelashes, "to talk to the Hogwarts Champion, about the Triwizard Tournament," and as if realizing she hadn't introduced herself she added in a purr, "I'm Rita Skeeter, I work for the Daily Prophet."

She made his skin cruel and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with this woman.

"Umm," Harry said intelligently, looking towards Hermione for help. But if Hermione had one fault it was respecting adults, she looked at him helplessly.

"Our picture is being taken outside," a welcomed accented voice said from behind him.

Harry twisted free from the Skeeter woman, and turned to look at Fleur with nothing but relief in his heart.

He didn't know why he felt so strongly that he just been saved, but as Fleur began to speak of France and her little sister, Harry knew for certain that this interaction was better than an interview with the old witch with the hungry beady eyes.

* * *

The day of the First Task seemed to come too soon.

She wasn't ready for this, but then who was ever ready to face a dragon on their own.

Had she been more less spiteful of her classmates who whispered the champion was 'half-breed sure to lose because of her Veela weaknesses,' Fleur might have come up with a different plan. In fact, gazing down at the tiny Chinese Fireball dragon in her hand she was pretty sure her plan was both as likely to get her killed as prove her classmates right.

But she was sick of anything short of pureblood wizard-human being second class. Time to show the world what real magic looked like.

She didn't remember entering the ring, did hear the din of the crowd roaring, she could only feel the magic surrounding the dragon.

There were reasons why most magical folk avoided dragons and it wasn't because they were dangerous -though they assuredly were that, but rather because there was a respect for these creatures power that could be felt bone deep.

So it was with every bone in her body telling her to run away that Fleur stepped in front of the dragon. She would have liked to have taken a less aggressive tact but with this particular dragon, it's tail end was nearly as deadly as it's maw.

The Fireball stared at her for a moment, a bit bewildered by a human so bluntly standing in its path without raising a weapon or approaching or screaming. Fleur stood before that might beast, and let the fear seep out of her. She would either live through this moment or she would die, but within this moment, she stood as equals before another creature of fire.

The Fireball's scales were deep scarlet, so deep as to be saturated in the richest of dyes. Its back was spiked, its nosed stubbed, but it's eyes were… if blue could be every color of the rainbow and remain blue, that was the color of the Chinese Fireball Dragon's eyes.

Fleur had a clear thought that _this is beauty, this wild, untamed, small mountain of muscle, scale, and flame is beauty. True beauty is the life in this dragon's eyes._

And then the dragon blew a ball of fire at her and the spectators let out a collective scream.

But Fleur was ready with her own ball of fire, which rather than throwing at the dragon she threw around herself. For a Veela couldn't burn themselves with their own flames -and with the training her grandmother had put her through, when the flames cleared, not even a thread was singed on her robes.

Fun fact, Veela blood -it skips a generation.

The mother dragon looked surprised and pissed.

It began to burrage her with ball after ball of fire. Fleur never took her wand from her wrist sheath.

Eventually, the dragon drew bored with this game and lashed out with its neck to try and take a bite out of Fleur instead, but the chain around its neck prevented that.

Fleur was far enough away to be safe from the dragon's teeth, but even still, the heat from a fire attack this close was asking for trouble.

Fleur held out her hands to the dragon, summoning fire to both, the dragon watched and perhaps had the beast been a bit more mammalian she might have called it humour dancing in its blue eyes, flecked with what she could now see -at a closer distance, appeared to be gold dust, adding to the odd blue rainbow effect.

She could just imagine the creature laughing at her, what could her tiny flames do it? Her pitiful flames no bigger than small stones. But once again, Fleur didn't use them against the dragon, she burned the flames brighter in her hand to hide her wand flicking out from her wrist sheath, directing her spells and her flame toward a pile of stones, she charmed and transfigured a stone into a golden egg.

The dragon cocked its head at the egg revealed by the disappearing flame, clearly not mistaking it for one of its own. Fleur shot another ball of fire at it with another spell, this time when the flames were clear the dragon watched the 'egg' appear to 'crack' open. What came out seemed to bewilder the dragon.

A sheep.

She didn't eat the sheep, she ignored it. Which is when the dragon proved that she was indeed more than a rage filled monster, that she was a clever magical creature who was as capable of taking a hint as the next.

Or maybe all mothers who cared for the young worried for them as much as loved them. Because the Mother Fireball curled in around herself, around her nest, tipped her great big head in to sniff her clutch only to whip back her head with a fury.

A golden egg came flying out of the nest, and Fleur scraped her knees as she dived to catch it. Fleur didn't wait to account for any other injuries she may have gotten, she hugged the egg to her chest and sprinted back toward the champion.

The Fireball roaring with a deafening rage as if she were yelling, "How dare anyone touch my young? How dare you come close to us!? How dare you!"

People were screaming as balls of fire hit the magical barriers keeping them safe as the dragon handlers tried to get the dragon switched out with another.

Fleur didn't care about any of it, her smile was brilliant as she crossed into the tent. She was alive and more than that she had succeeded.

Today was a good day.

* * *

AN: Thoughts and reactions, please?


	4. Chains and Flames

Chapter 4 - Chains and Flames

Harry was so afraid his entire body was tingling, electric. The breath in his lungs seemed to be not enough.

He really hoped he wasn't about to pass out. That would be bad.

Harry had been through a lot in his short life and facing the Horntail brought back memories of the Chamber of Secrets. Of Hermione in the hospital wing, Ron with a deranged DADA professor (really what was it with DADA professors?), and Ginny unconscious on the floor.

There was no Tom Riddle here, no snake that could blind a person with a wink, but there was a very, very angry mother dragon who could and would be spitting fire at him.

He didn't enter the ring proudly as Fleur had, he entered in a crouch, tentative and ready to run away like a jackrabbit. If he had learned anything from years running away from Dudley and his gang, pride wasn't something one could avoid if they wanted to avoid being punched in the face.

And this dragon could do far more than give him a black eye.

He accioed his broom, preparing himself to play chicken with a dragon.

Now that he was here it seemed like a stupid plan. But it was his only option. It wasn't like he could talk to the dragon.

The wait for his broom was agonizing, and the Horntail was already spitting flames at him. On the plus side, it gave him an idea at her range.

His broom finally came to his hand and he hopped it, taking to the skies like a fish to water.

An illusion of confidence and security came over him. In the air, he was in his element, the winds pushed and pulled at him like friends welcoming him home.

He dived, he swerved, he did things that defied gravity, which was the general idea of flying to begin with. At times the flames got too close for comfort, but he was able to lure her slowly, precariously, away from her nest.

He didn't think, he didn't envision, he just acted. He dove, cut hold of the golden egg then went straight up. If his muscles hadn't been locked and as frozen to his broom as they were then he most definitely would have gotten whiplash.

His heart rejoiced once he reached that altitude, that height at which he knew her flames couldn't hurt him. He was safe. He'd won. He'd done it.

His triumph was short lived, because he was wrong. He was terribly, terribly mistaken.

It wasn't that he had miscalculated the distance and reach of the flames, it was the dragonologists who had miscalculated the strength of the chains.

Harry couldn't understand why he heard it, the sound of metal cracking like a split stone. He hadn't heard the roar of the crowd or his own ragged breathing, but he heard the metal give. And while his mind didn't inform immediately as to what had happened, his gut did.

The dragon rose up off the ground, her wing beats changing the currents of the air. She got to eye level with him, the look in her amber gaze chilling him to his core.

He was going to die, and she was going to take her time killing him.

She stuck him from the side with her snout, propelling him toward the ground.

It took all his concentration and skill to hold onto his broom to attempt to control his decent. A freefall from this height would be it.

He landed hard on the stony ground, far from the nest. He had dropped the egg somewhere along the way but he didn't care. His broom had snapped in half when he crashed. He got to his hands and knees, fighting against the bruises and sprains to get up, to run.

He heard her behind him, he wouldn't be fast enough. He wasn't fast enough. He rolled to his back and in a desperate attempt to spare himself from the heat rushing toward him, he threw up a shield. He threw everything he had into that shield.

Some of the flames reached him before he finished shouting the spell, " _Protego!"_ So that Latin finished on a scream.

The pain was blinding, licking up his torso, Hermione's flame retardant spells sparing only the cloth that hadn't been directly hit.

He didn't allow himself to blank out, he used the pain to fuel his spell. He poured energy into his shield just as he had done when facing an army of Dementors. He would not die without putting up a fight.

The next rush of flames heated the stones beneath him but didn't break his shield. It gave him hope, and Harry pushed more power into the spell. He couldn't imagine what Hermione would go through if he didn't survive this.

He went into somewhat of a stupor, his mind emptying of thought and fear as he kept his magic flowing. His magic felt like a living thing inside him, surrounding him. Like a northern wind, cold and steady.

He watched in a detached manner as lights flew at the dragon. He didn't quite hear her roar in fury, but he felt it in his bruised bones.

He did hear her say, _You dare chain me!? You dare to touch my young!?_

Harry frowned. Dragons could speak?

If he had been more himself, he would have laughed out loud. _Of course, I'm a parselmouth, I could have just talked to her._

He hated just about everyone in that moment.

The world seemed to go quiet.

Ron pounded on his bubble with a fist, telling him it was safe now, and that he needed help.

Not Ron, he realized after a moment, Charlie, Ron's brother. It really shouldn't have been an easy mistake make, aside from the hair and general paleness they didn't look that much alike.

Then Dumbledore was knocking on his shield, "It's safe, my boy. Lower your shield."

Harry didn't know why, but he strengthened his wards against the Headmaster. He didn't trust the old man, he had allowed this to happen. Allowed the mother dragon to be violated, allowed him to be hurt. He had told him that he hadn't wanted to be here. But he hadn't listened. No one ever listened to him, not when it mattered.

Dumbledore raised his wand at him.

Harry braced himself, pulling on the last of his reserves, giving everything he had to the shield protecting him from the outside world.

When the Headmaster's magic shattered his spell, Harry felt as if his heart were being torn apart, the air stolen from his lungs.

For a moment he was without; without life, without power, and something dark and malvalaint that had weighed on him all his life without him knowing it, snapped away.

For a fraction of a moment, he saw himself from a distance. His body frail and pathetic against the stones. A gastly blacked and red wound on his stomach and along his right arm. His emerald eyes were empty behind the soot smeared glasses.

With a sound resembling the wail of squirrel beneath a rubber tire, a puff of black smoke released from his lightning bolt scar.

Like a crater striking Earth, he jolted back into his body. He felt his scar burst open as if someone had taken a knife to his forehead and sliced down his face.

Air came rushing back; breath, life, and the blissful release of unconsciousness.

* * *

When he woke up -surprisingly, he was in the hospital wing -unsurprisingly. Madame Pomfrey, fussed over him and the hand holding his shook.

He turned his head to the side and saw Hermione, her cheeks streaked with tears.

"Oh, Harry."

"I'm-" he began thickly, he felt so tired, "'m okay…"

She burst into a fresh wave of tears, pressing her forehead to his hand.

"I'm okay, 'Mione," he tried again, sounding only a little less addled. "I'm okay."

She didn't look up or let go of his hand. The best he could manage was squeezing her hand in return, his entire right side was lost under a mass of bandages. So was half his face for that matter. He wondered why his glasses had been left on.

He couldn't blame Hermione for her reaction. He was okay -because he was currently alive.

But remembering what had gotten him into this cot... he was pretty certain that for a moment there, he hadn't been okay.

He was pretty sure he had died.

"You could have died," Hermione breathed, looking up at him, her voice sounding clearly than his.

"That wouldn't have been good," he said, eyes flicking shut. He needed sleep. But he continued talking to Hermione, it was the least he could do. "That would have ruined the whole Boy Who Lived story I had going."

She slapped his uninjured arm. "That isn't funny."

He smiled, which hurt his face.

"Let him sleep, Ms. Granger," Pomphrey called, "Or I must insist you leave."

"I'll be here when you wake up, Harry."

"Thanks 'Mione," he whispered as he gave up the fight against drifting back to sleep.

* * *

What had happened to Harry had brought home to Fleur that they really could lose their lives in this competition.

Even in tasks not designed to kill them, there could be mistakes.

In Harry's case, it hadn't been any fault of his that the dragon had broken loose. Had she been in his place she would have died. Her magic could not have held off a fully grown dragon slamming her magic-repellent body against her shields.

She wondered how much he remembered about the attack. She wondered what he would think of the extension of his scars.

If defeating the Dark Lord as a baby wasn't enough to make him a legend, then yesterday would have cemented his title as the Boy Who Lived.

* * *

AN: Short chapter, random updates, yada, yada, but what did you think of Harry's tango with the Horntail?


	5. Lightning Strikes

Keynote: Fleur is of age but I have decided to pull her back to her sixth year.

Apologies to the Beta: Ahrnberg will work his magic on this fiction soon and this will be updated. But I found myself in a poor mood and rather impatient. Hope you all enjoy, and please review about the characters and plot. Hakon2feb you totally get the gold for prompting me to finish this chapter today. Many thanks.

Chapter 5 - Lightning Strikes

The first thing he thought when he finally got to see his face was; _Well, that I won't be able to cover up with my bangs._

His lightning bolt scar still looked like lightning, only instead of a single bolt, now it was a web of white pearlescent scars reaching to his temple and over his eyelid. He leaned in closer to the mirror, his eyelashes seemed fine, but his right eyebrow had been cut through thrice.

"Why?" he asked, turning to face Madame Pomfrey, "What happened to it?"

 _It,_ not him, _it._ What had happened to his scar, his face, not him; _it._

The healer looked him straight in the eye, giving him solid eye contact, not letting her gaze drift to _it_. What Harry knew everyone would see first and think last of him. His scar, not the color of his eyes, or that he looked like his father, _no_.

They would think only of the scar, if it hadn't been what everyone always thought about him before, it would be now.

"I don't know," she said.

He felt his heart sink. _I don't know_ , was not an acceptable answer. _I don't know,_ was the essence of any answer of any question he had ever asked about himself, his family, and his past. _I don't know._

That wasn't good enough for him, not anymore.

"I don't know," she continued, "however, if I had to guess, When You-Know-Who attempted to curse you, he left something behind with you when he died."

 _When he died._ But Voldemort wasn't dead, no more than Harry was now. They really should have both been dead.

"Would Dumbledore?"

She frowned at him, "Would Dumbledore what?"

"Would Dumbledore know what happened with my scar?"

She shook her head, "If he knew something, I'm sure he would have told myself or you by now, Mr. Potter."

Harry wasn't so sure. Dumbledore liked his secrets, and Dumbledore didn't really talk to Harry much. He just provided him with bits of information that either got him further into trouble or gave him advice after the fact. He never seemed to be there when Harry needed him, not personally at least.

But what had happened to him was _personal_. "Is there any way to cover it up?" he asked already knowing her answer. She couldn't heal the discoloration on his stomach and arm -being directly hit with dragon fire couldn't be erased, not completely. Where his clothes had set briefly on fire had burned him, _that_ she could heal, but not the white and tanned and pink blotches on his torso and arm.

Madame Pomfrey shook her head, "I'm sorry, Harry, there isn't anything permanent you could do, and excluding the short-term effects of a Pollypotion, you may find many glamour charms won't be able to mask it. Curse marks… they aren't like regular scars."

He had the absurd thought that perhaps it was a good thing he wasn't a Slytherin, because he would be even worse at blending in now. Maybe he could live beneath his invisibility cloak?

"Thanks for taking care of me, Madame Pomfrey," he said, striding for the door.

"Mr. Pott-"

But he had already made it into the hall. He needed to find Albus Dumbledore. He needed answers. If he was going to walk around with this thing on his face for the rest of his life, he wanted to know what it was. That is, other than a symbol of his parents giving their lives for his. He was starting to believe that with the sheer number of people and creatures trying to do him in, they shouldn't have bothered.

When he got to the gargoyles, they told him he was in a meeting.

"A staff meeting," one of the portraits told him kindly.

Harry thanked the portrait and tried to ignore the paintings whispering as well as the pitying looks they gave him.

He felt his infamous temper rising with each step he took to the teacher's lounge. He didn't knock, just walked in, chin raised, eyes scanning the room for the Headmaster.

Whatever conversation they had been having, came to a staggered hall. He felt their eyes focused on it. His souvenir, that was not as it happened to be from the dragon that had almost fried and crushed him

The Headmaster wasn't hard to find, sitting at the head of the table. Catching that gaze, he said in clear voice, "I need to speak with you, Headmaster."

"He's busy, Potter," Snape said.

Harry ignored the dour man.

Dumbledore made no move to get out of his seat.

 _Fine,_ he thought, _we can do this the hard way._

"What happened to my scar?" Harry asked in a deceptively calm voice.

"Harry, my boy, I don-"

" _Yes,_ " he interrupted, "you do. I know you do. You've had thirteen bloody years to figure it out. What is it?"

"Why you impotent-"

Harry turned on the Potions Master with a snarl, "Shut up! You're not the one _he's_ trying to kill! You're not the one constantly having to suffer because of other people's mistakes!"

For a moment, he saw something pass across the older man's face. Some regret or sorrow shone in the onyx eyes.

"My boy, calm dow-" Dumbledore began.

Again, Harry cut him off, "You killed me."

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed, "Enough of this. Albus would never-"

"But he did," Harry said, not caring that he was making a spectacle of himself in front of all the professors. He was and would always be a spectacle now. Might as well get some answers out of it. "When he knocked on my shield," he turned his gaze back to Dumbledore's, "you didn't wait for me, you pulled your wand and broke my shield. It killed me. I felt it. For a moment I died. I saw it, saw the light go from my own eyes, they were lifeless. I was lifeless."

There was a stunned silence at this.

He went on, "I saw that black smoke come out of my head? What was that?"

"Harry…" The Headmaster said weakly.

"What was it!?" he shouted, "What did Voldemort do to me!? Why was he after me to begin with? Who the bloody hell goes after a baby? I wasn't a danger to him. Why go to all the trouble to kill me? A baby? _Why!?_ Why me? What is _wrong_ with me!?"

McGonagall stood, "Mr. Potter, listen to me, there is nothing wron-"

"Yes, there is! _Yes, there is!_ " he yelled.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the other professors flinch. Professor Trelawney was hunched in around herself, her head almost ducking beneath the table. Some of the others, especially Professor Sprout, looked ill. Even Snape looked uncommonly pale, only Professor Moody seemed unaffected by his outburst.

Harry stepped to the side, away from McGonagall so he could see Dumbledore. "Tell me why?" he said, voice sounding normal if a bit rough. "Why does he want me dead so badly?"

Dumbledore only shook his head.

" _Tell me!"_ Harry roared, feeling shaky, and lost, and so, so angry. "Tell me or I swear I will never trust you again. Tell me now or I'm never going to do anything you say unless I thought to do it first."

That got another rise out of Snape. He too, was standing now, "You think you're so ready to cast away help, Potter? You have no idea what people have done for you, sacrificed for you."

Harry faced the man he hated the most right after Voldemort and Wormtail. "I know, I know better than you do. The one and only memory I have of my parents is of them screaming as _he_ killed them. I almost let the Dementors do me in last year because I got to hear her calling out for me, hear _her_ voice as she begged for my life. I wish she had stepped aside like _he_ told her to do. I wish she had just given me to him, let me die. I don't think it's likely I'll make it to graduation, and she could have had more kids. I wasn't worth it. I was never worth their lives."

For once Snape was rendered speechless, his eyes wide looking at Harry as if he had never seen him before.

"Harry-" someone croaked.

He turned to see, McGonagall reaching out to him. He took a step back. He looked around the room, Moody's rolling eye was eerily focused on him, Sprout and Flitwick were in tears, and Harry was glad that Hagrid was absent. Dumbledore looked at him solemnly, but he said nothing.

Nothing.

Harry felt his heart harden. He yanked the door open and left. He began to run down the halls. He didn't want to talk to anyone, he didn't want anyone to look at him. He was pretty sure someone tried to follow him. But he had spent far too many hours of his life running. Whoever it was, he lost them long before he reached the owlery.

He was going to write to Sirius. He was changing his mind. He was going to take Sirius up on his offer to run away. After the final task, he was leaving. And if his godfather said no, then Harry would find another way.

If he made it through this year, then he was taking his wand, his owl, and himself, far away from this place. Maybe Sirius and he could find asylum in another country. He would not be returning to the Dursleys this summer.

He'd die first.

He had done that a few times now, it wasn't as bad as people made it out to be.

* * *

Severus watched Minerva run after the boy, knowing she wouldn't be able to catch up with him.

His mind was still spinning from what the boy had said. Severus felt as if he were going to be sick, felt as if the guilt would crush him.

 _You're not the one constantly having to suffer because of other people's mistakes!_

No, Severus wasn't the one suffering from others' mistakes, he was constantly suffering because of his own. And it was Severus' mistakes that had ruined the lives of the Potters.

 _She begged for my life. I wish she had stepped aside like_ he _told her to do._ Nothing had ever prepared him to hear those words spoken from that boy's lips with _her_ emerald eyes staring him down through the grave.

It was worse than any torture he had ever endured, save for losing her all those years ago.

For his mistakes being the cause of her death.

"What did the boy mean by saying you killed him?" snapped a high voice.

It was Filius, who even with tears still wet on his face, he looked furious.

"He passed out whe-"

The diminutive Charms professor slammed his fist on the table, it wasn't that impressive of gesture from him, but none of them had ever seen the cheerful man lose his temper. "Of the things you should and should not know, you _should_ have known that breaking his shield charm when he was in that condition could have hurt him. It very well might have killed him, permanently."

"It was a simple shield char-"

"Simple!" Filius exclaimed, "Simple!? You call that simple? Perhaps the Latin was 'simple' but no _simple_ charm could hold off dragon fire. A Horntail, at that distance? It should have taken three trained adults to hold a shield against that flame. And when the dragon tried smashing her tail and body into his shield? What part of that- that _strength_ made you think attacking him would be a good idea?"

"He was in shock."

"Exactly! That alone could have killed him."

Albus shook his head, "You saw those burns, he needed immediate attention."

Filius stood, "Say what you will, _Headmaster_ , but perhaps Harry is right to mistrust you."

The little professor stormed out of the room. Pomona sniffled, Trelawney gave a little whimpering moan, Moody grumbled and took another swig from his flask. The other professors stared mutely at one another.

What a sorry lot they made.

After a time Albus left the room, the others following.

Severus was the last to leave. Thirteen, thirteen bloody years, and he was as worthless as he had ever been.

* * *

Fleur found herself looking for him at dinner. She knew he was out of hospital wing. She knew it because she had made it a habit to visit him every night before dinner, a time when his girlfriend, Ms. Granger, took her leave of him.

But the healer had told her that he had been cleared. Fleur shouldn't have been surprised. His wounds, well, they weren't awful, but people would talk.

Karkaroff had given him a zero in his scoring but every other judge had awarded him full marks. After all, if it hadn't been for the broken chain, he would have gotten out of there without a scratch. He truly was an incredible flier.

Harry Potter didn't come to dinner that night, but he came to breakfast. His spine looked painfully straight as he walked into the Great Hall. The tables were a little more than halfway full, and student after student fell silent, like a wave beginning with whoever caught sight of his face, his new scars.

A hush fell over the room before it descended into whispers. She heard snickering from the far table, and girls shooting pitying looks toward him, some of the boys looked quickly away as if he had a shameful deformity of some sort.

It made her angry. She caught his gaze as he walked by her. She looked at him, not at his scar, _him._ And for a brief second, she felt him see her, not her beauty, _her_. It was like being struck by lightning.

" _Bon vol,_ " she said as he came even with her, "Nice moves, Flyboy."

He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her, "Not so bad yourself, Fire Girl."

He went to his table, she turned back to hers.

The moment they had shared passed, and for the first time in her life she felt a spark of envy for the pretty girl a boy preferred over her.


	6. Scar Face

Beta: Ahrnberg is back! Bow before the mighty editor.  
 _Ahrnberg, your humble, but awesome, editor: Bowing isn't necessary. I'm happy with sacrifices of blueberries and a small, small, part of your souls. Or, if you readers really love my editing: Feed me lots and lots of Coffee and I'm gold!_

STORY UPDATE: Hi, so anyone reading _Found in the Ashes_ or _What We Lost_ , I have the backstory up for the Black Sisters, titled _Even Villains Fall in Love_. It is rated M so I don't think anyone got a notice for it. Please read and review if the warning tags don't bother you. I wrote out how I envision the Black Sisters came to be for that storyline.

Chapter 6 - Scar Face

Sirius cursed as he tripped over yet another dusty piece of trash -or rather, his mother ornate furniture. He had a feeling he would have to go to war with this place in order to make it livable.

He cursed again. He couldn't believe he was here, that he was planning on bringing James' son here. Never, ever, _ever_ would he have imagined returning to Grimmauld Place, much less in the hopes of making a home out of it.

But Harry's letter had been deeply disturbing. Reading between the lines, Sirius saw too much of his own desperation where his godson had described not trusting the Headmaster and refusing to go back to his relatives.

Sirius had received a letter some weeks ago from Dumbledore, but had yet to respond. He wouldn't be now. As much as they had messed up by not trusting Dumbledore to be Secret Keeper all those years ago, there had been a reason _why_ James and Lily hadn't wanted to put their son's security in his hands.

James had never told Sirius why it was exactly that the Dark Lord wanted Harry dead, and like Harry, Sirius believed that Dumbledore did, in fact, know. However, while surviving the Killing Curse was a first, there were ways to figure out what the Dark Lord had originally been planning. The types of magics he was playing with were out there, and where better to research the Dark Arts than in the House of Black. His father's library was rather extensive.

When Sirius finally reached the fireplace in the center of the house -his father's study as it happened, he let out a deep sigh.

He really didn't want to be here and he really didn't want to do this. He sighed again, this time coughing on the dust in the room. Steadying himself he grabbed the ornate knife on the mantle, unsheathing it he rolled his eyes at the serpentine design and the emeralds set into the silver hilt.

He took the knife and slid it across his palm. He watched, a bit disgusted as his blood spilled onto the marble before the fireplace. "I Sirius Orion Black, Heir of House Black rescind all invention and access to the House of Black. All but myself and my heir, Harry James Potter, shall be denied entry. By the Black in my blood I say it is so, and so shall it be."

The words didn't matter as much as people thought in the Dark Arts, it was all about intention and will and _power_. And Sirius let his blood flow, pushed his power through the ceremony, into the ancient wards of the house, and the property. His Grandfather Pollex liked to say this property was receiving Black Blood before London was more than a wide spot in the road. Sirius thought it probable that it wasn't just their blood that got spilled.

He finished the reactivation of the warding with downward slice of his wand. It wasn't quite as good as the Fidelius Ward, but these wards didn't have such a simple work around either. No, getting through these wards we require a number of martyrs and even then…

If he had been heir black when James was still alive, Sirius would haved moved them here.

Sirius reaffirmed his intent, his desire and spoke the Latin that sealed the wards. Now, only Harry and himself could enter at will, and only Sirius would be able to apparate someone into the house.

He had even gone as far as expelling any portkeys that he hadn't made, and house-elf apparition. A ward that his family was particularly good at, considering the way they treated their house-elves was quite necessary in some circumstances. The idea that elves never rebelled or betrayed their masters was pure fiction. Given the way he had been treated by the little vermin growing up, Sirius was well aware of that fact.

Which reminded him, he took a deep breath before calling out, " _Kreacher!"_

* * *

Harry was not having a good year, aside from the almost dying by Dumbledore and a dragon, _everyone_ , and he did mean _everyone,_ was treating him differently. Thus far he had been successful about avoiding the professors, who seemed to want to talk to him, but were also reluctant to ask him to stay after class.

Which was good because everyone was talking about him. He hadn't been pointed at this much in his first year, but like his first year the topic was the same, his scar.

Ron had approached him once, seemed to lose his nerve looking at his scar, then turned away.

Whatever their friendship had been, that was the last straw for Harry. He wouldn't go out of his way to be mean to Ron, but he wouldn't be trusting him again either. That was something Hermione seemed to realize because she never brought him up and she stopped looking towards the redhead, stopped waiting for him to join them.

They one thing that gave Harry hope, and had him looking forward to the future, was a letter from Sirius.

 _You will not be going back to the Dursleys. I found a place, it isn't perfect, but it's safe and it's ours._

Ours.

Harry kept the letter to himself, in his pocket or under his pillow, at all times. He had yet to share it with Hermione or anyone else for that matter. _Ours_. He had never had a place that was his before. The prospect of having a home with his godfather filled him with such -such happiness that it drove away the gloom and the anger of everything else that was happening.

Well, that was until one day in Transfiguration when he tried transforming his guineafowl into a guinea pig. He succeeded -sort of. His fowl did turn into a pig, but not a guinea pig and not just one. With the sound of a firecracker going off his spell hit the fowl and it spawned into fifteen medium sized pink pigs, who scattered around the room, onking and causing some to climb onto the tables and others to try to pet them. They were as it turned out, quite friendly.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall called, "Stay after class when the bell rings."

He nodded.

Hermione leaned in to whisper in his ear, "That was quite good, but did you mean to turn them into pigs."

He shook his head and said under his breath, "I think I might have accidentally pictured a real pig rather than a guinea pig, but not multiple ones."

"I thought you needed a separate spell for that," she said, as they watched McGonagall transform the pigs into fowls. Oddly though, she seemed unable to undo the multiplication spell.

At the end of class, McGonagall made an announcement about the Yule Ball.

Harry was not thrilled about this.

"You will need to find a partner," McGonagall told him after the room ended.

He sighed, resigned to the fact that there was yet another thing he 'needed' to do. He consoled himself with the fact that he 'needed' to return to the Dursleys this summer, but he wouldn't do that.

"Your spell was very powerful," she went on, "and the conjuring of the pigs was quite remarkable."

He frowned, "It was just a multiplication spell, wasn't it?"

"No, Mr. Potter. Had it been one, the reversal spell I used would have undone it. Conjuring of that nature isn't something students begin until sixth year."

"But I based it off the fowl."

She nodded, "Yes but the spells most of your classmates create are not permanent, given time their creations would disappear, only the base of what the creature was would have remained. When conjuring is brought into transfiguration, you are not just using one thing to make another, you are bringing into the equation matter that had not existed previously, at least not in a recognizable form."

"Soooo… what does that mean?"

"It means you made fifteen real pigs from one real fowl. Rather than making a magical duplication and enlargement of the pig."

"Which means what? I don't think I understand the difference," he said, not quite following her logic.

"If I hit the other students animals with a reversal spell it would have reverted them back to a single fowl. If they had made duplications they would have simply disappeared. But your conjured pigs, well, we would could have served them up as tomorrow morning's bacon.

"Making something real and permanent, Mr. Potter, takes a great deal of power."

Harry met her gaze and asked, "So what?"

"It means Mr. Potter that you need to be practicing more, both to burn of some steam and to better gage how much power you need to exert for smaller tasks. From now until the end of term, I don't want any more essays from you for this class. But for your sixth year detention period instead. I expect you to be mastering those spells and writing those essays."

"You're giving me extra work because I am doing well in classes," he stated.

She gave him a searching look, "I am very glad you're are alive, Mr. Potter."

His lips turned up in a half smile, "Me too."

"You parents would be very proud."

Harry looked away, "Thanks."

"That being said, you should have died when the Horntail got loose, it is remarkable that you were able to hold a Horntail. You know that dragonhide is resilient to magic? Her slamming herself against your shield should have broken it. But you held it off. You should ask Professor Flitwick for some extra spellwork to do as well."

He lifted his eyebrows at that, "Why would I ask for more work?"

Jade eyes to emerald, she said, "Because students come to Hogwarts to learn magic, and I fear, Mr. Potter, that you must learn how to harness yours or be ruled by it."

Harry sighed again, "I will talk to Professor Flitwick."

"Good, and Mr. Potter," she called out as he turned to leave, "If you ever want or need someone to talk to… I taught your parents. I admired them, and Sirius and James were two of my best students."

Harry nodded, and said, honestly, "Thank you." Before leaving.

* * *

A week after being told he needed to find a date, Harry was determined he was just going to face his fears and ask. After all, it wasn't like the whispering, muttering, and sniggering could get any worse.

"Cho," Harry began, "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

All her friends giggled, some averted their eyes from his face, but Cho gave him a soft smile and nodded.

Harry led her to a corridor out of the way of the student pouring out of their classes. "I wanted to ask-" he almost tripped over the words in his haste, "Cho, do you want to go to Yule Ball with me?"

Her cheeks turned bright pink but she smiled. In a quiet voice she said, "Yes, Harry, I'd like that."

Harry's own smile felt like it was splitting his face in two, "Great! Thanks, I'll see you on Christmas then."

She nodded, then dashed off back to the waiting group of friends.

The rest of the day should have gone splendidly, only he turned too quickly into the crowd and collided with Draco Malfoy. Draco who immediately shoved him away, "Watch where you're going Scar Face, or did you suffer more brain damage this time?"

His two cronies and Pansy left him seething as they walked away chortling.

 _Scar Face._

Harry shut his eyes and tried to breathe in deeply, attempting to calm himself. Malfoy had called him _Scar Head_ before, but the adaptation of the old insult affected him more- more than he thought it would.

And he felt shame that he would let his appearance, and what someone like Malfoy said, get to him. It bothered him that it mattered, that he was having a harder time with each passing day looking at his own reflection.

At least he had a date to the Yule Ball, at least Cho hadn't laughed at him, at least he was Gryffindor enough to have the courage to ask out his crush.

* * *

Barty Crouch Jr. had to be careful about contacting the Dark Lord, but there were ways.

"And they said he died?"

"He did, and he believed it. I believe he meant it when he said he would never trust Dumbledore again."

The Dark Lord was quiet for a moment, "How distrustful is he of Dumbledore?"

Crouch narrowed his eye at the memory, "Enough that I doubt he would take notice of the man's warnings."

"Good, very good."

"You were right about the boy being the natural pick for the Hogwarts Champion. His shield charm was quite impressive and his classwork… it seems after the first task he has been improving in leaps and bounds. And not just in my class, but Transfiguration and Charms as well."

"And what does the Headmaster think of this?"

"He's kept his own counsel. I doubt he is happy though, it isn't just Potter who distrusts the man now."

The Dark Lord was quiet for a long moment.

"My Lord?" Crouch asked after he feared someone might come knocking on his office door.

"Pass a message along to Severus, I must speak with him."

"He isn't to be trusted."

"If Dumbledore hears of my presence then no, but for now, Severus Snape is mine and has always been mine to wield."

"But the plan-"

"Silence! Plans change. Let's see how deep the mistrust for this Great Albus Dumbledore has grown in this young mind."

* * *

"'Arry," Fleur began on one of their training days, "do you have a date for Yule?"

Harry smiled at her before shooting a smile at Hermione who grinned back, "That I do. How about you? I know Krum does."

Fleur's face went cold and Harry worried he had offended her. Her tone impersonal, she said, "Not yet."

"I'm not sure there are many boys who would say no if you asked," he said kindly.

She gave him an unfathomable look, her sapphire eyes seeming to bore into for a long moment. "I suppose not," she said quietly before turning back to the practice dummy and wordlessly cast a spell that cut the dummy in half.

Harry frowned, not understanding what he had done to upset her, and she was obviously upset, though neither Hermione nor Krum seemed phased by it.

"Harry, show us the spell you did in Charms class," Krum ordered, his accent not so heavy that Harry couldn't make out the words. His speech was getting better the more time he spent with Hermione.

He sighed, pointed his wand at the wall and tried to keep his focus on just the wall, " _Scourgify."_

Every surface in the room scrubbed itself clean as if a hundred house-elves had rubbed at the stone walls, ceilings, floors, and glass windows (inside and outside), until the room looked new -or at least as new as a castle could look.

Fleur turned to him, and he felt warmed by her expression of shock and a slight hint of awe on her face. " _C'est pas vrai._ The stones look newly cut from the mountain."

"Flitwick gave our house fifteen points," Hermione said proudly.

"He also talked to me after class," Harry said less enthusiastically.

"Well, it couldn't have been anything bad," she said, her smile brilliant. "It was - _is_ an amazing feet of magic, and no one got hurt."

He forced himself to meet her brown gaze, "He gave me a new schedule."

"He what?"

"It was a test, the spell, McGonagall made it up and she told Flitwick that if I over succeeded in my next class that he should give it to me."

"So, are you getting switched out of fourth year Charms?"

Harry couldn't keep the regret off his face. "Not just Charms, Hermione."

She stood up from the window seat and strode towards him, "How many classes?"

He sighed, "Charms, Transfiguration, DADA, and Herbology. I don't know why they are switching me out of Herbology. I have a mandatory teachers' meeting to go to, and Flitwick said Dumbledore would explain everything."

"But Harry," she said slowly, "that means we only have Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic together."

"Astronomy and Potions, too," he pointed out.

"But we can't even partner in Potions thanks to Professor Snape!" Hermione exclaimed, "I can't believe this is happening. Why? You're advancing fast sure, but I mean you're not- I mean, it is just…"

"I'm not as smart as you," Harry said for her, not unkindly. "I don't know either. If anyone was going to be bumped two years, I don't know why it would be me."

"Two years!" she exclaimed, "You'll be taking classes with the sixth years? Why? That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," Fleur said, "There have always been a few students who go through the system faster, and it has very little to do with how smart they are."

Krum nodded, "Most schools have systems in place for this kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" Hermione asked, as Harry asked, "Wait, this is normal?"

They shook their heads and Fleur explained, " _Non._ It isn't normal, but it isn't unheard of for students who have suppressed powers to be suddenly advanced. It is not about how smart you are, it is about learning control. The point of the early years of education is to build a foundation and strength of your magic."

"But," Krum picked up the explanation, "if your magic is out of control, and too strong, then you need things that are more complex. Like using wordless casting."

"We are already halfway through the year," Hermione said, "How is Harry supposed to keep up?"

Krum shrugged, "It isn't about grades, if his powers keep building as they have been since his fight with the dragon then he might get himself and others hurt."

Fleur nodded, "Most people don't survive what Harry is going through."

"Or they are thrown in prison," Krum added.

Harry paled, "What is happening to me? And what do you mean I could go to jail?"

"Magic repression," Fleur said gently, "has a lot of negative effects."

Harry laughed, "I haven't suppressed my magic."

"Harry," Hermione said as gently as Fleur, "I think maybe you have been."

"When?" Harry demanded.

"Well," she said, "Look what you did last year, with the Dementors, and holding off the Horntail… I've heard people talking and most fully grown wizards couldn't have done what you did. But those are only two incidents."

"But I have difficulty in classes with simple spells. Until the first task, you were always ahead of me."

"Exactly," she said.

"Exactly what?"

"Think, if you always had the power to fight of major threats but could barely change your tortoise into a teapot… If you were always that strong but were unable to use it most of the time..."

"It usually -in the rare cases that it happens at all," Krum said, "with children for one reason or another never attended school. Their magical outbursts sometimes cause enough damage that they get sent to prison."

"The ones who do go to school," Fleur answered Harry's horrified expression, "they get -as they say, fast-tracked for the practical magic."

"Am I dangerous?" Harry asked.

They gave him the same look.

He shook his head, "I mean accidentally? Could I really hurt someone? Kill someone by accident?"

He felt like he was going to be sick. Being top of his class hadn't been what he wanted, but it had been kind of cool -until this moment.

"Didn't you blow up your aunt last summer?" Hermione asked.

Krum raised a single eyebrow at this and Fleur looked equal parts horrified and scandalized as if she been tricked into hanging out with a murderer.

"Blew up like a balloon," Harry clarified, "she floated into the air but was otherwise fine. My relatives weren't too pleased though."

"But you could have really hurt her," Hermione noted, "Maybe… maybe you do need to be with the older students." She said the last almost reluctantly.

"But why now?" Harry asked. "Why not when I was younger?"

"Perhaps it has something to do with your scar," Krum said.

"What do you mean?" Harry couldn't quite keep the hostility out of his voice. He _hated_ people talking about his scar and everyone in this room knew that.

"You have been different," Hermione said.

"Yeah," he grumbled, "more annoyed with the world."

She shook her head, her mass of frizz turning with her, "No, actually, you have been easier to get along with. You've been- well not happier, that isn't the right word… you've been more stable. Less moody. You've been upset, but your moods don't turn dark and you don't go silent as much as you used to."

"I didn't do that."

"I think she's right," Fleur remarked, "I didn't know you well before the first task, _mais_ , you are easier to be around now."

"That doesn't make sense, how can I be easier to be around, and yet have my magic be wilder?"

"It is easier to swim without stones tied to your legs, even if you still have miles left to swim," Krum said.

Hermione gave him such a look, Harry wondered if she wasn't falling for the foreign Quidditch player. Harry also wondered if the stones weighing him down had something to do with the black smoke that emerged from his scar.

He would have to ask Sirius about it.

* * *

"You will take your OWLs next year," Albus was saying as Potter petted Fawkes, who had flown onto his lap the moment he sat down. "And the following year you will take your NEWTs. Professor Snape will be giving you extra homework, and if you are able to pass next years OWLs exams, you will be able to take your NEWTs with him."

The prospect of doing three years of work in two years with the boy sounded less than pleasant.

"The same goes with Care of Magical Creatures, History, and Astronomy if you wish to pursue those subjects to the NEWT level, though you are welcome to stay in your year in those subjects."

"Probably not History or Astronomy," Potter said, speaking for the first time to the Headmaster, though he was still facing the phoenix, so maybe he was really saying it the firebird?

"What will I be doing for the last year? Will I graduate early?"

"You could if you would like," Albus said, his tone overly kind, "but we would hope you would stay on for one year of extra study. You could begin training to become an animagus like your father and godfather, with Professor McGonagall, and perhaps pursue a Masters in a subject, I know Professor Flitwick would be thrilled to work with you. I'd even offer you a job as DADA professor, though I might worry about your safety in taking such a position."

Potter snorted, "Like you care about my safety."

"Harry, of course I care about your safety."

He finally looked up to the old wizard, who looked full of grandfatherly concern. "I don't believe that."

Albus sighed, "I acted hastily, Harry, I'm sorry for causing you harm. I thought the dragon had- You needed help, and I didn't think what breaking you charm might do. I could only think that you were hurt and that I needed to get to you."

"You expect me to believe that you didn't know what your spell would do?"

"Sometimes, in caring for a person too much, we don't think, we just react. Of course, I realized my mistake afterward. I do apologize for my arrogance."

"You think I'll just forgive you? If someone could confound the Goblet, someone could have gotten me out of competing. You didn't even try and when I needed help after the 'safety' measures broke, you nearly ended my life."

"' _I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being-forgive me-rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger.'_ And I am sorry you had to participate in the tournament, but I could think of no way to undo it without risking your magic being lost. It is an ancient thing and more accustomed to taking than giving back."

"Tell me what came out of my scar," Potter demanded.

"I don't know, not for certain."

"Tell me what me what you _think_ it was."

The Headmaster sighed and rubbed at his nose, "I fear it was a piece of Voldemort's power leaching off of you."

Potter scrunched his nose, "You think it was alive?"

"It seems likely, perhaps not independently sentient, but I believe there is cause for your recent and rapid growth in strength. If whatever happened that night, it perhaps put a cap on or restricted your magic in some way, it's sudden absence might be causing this reaction. Perhaps it was even causing your magic to work against it, without it draining you, you have access to more strength then you've ever been able to harness before."

"Can I really hurt people by accident?"

The Headmaster nodded gravely, "Yes, it is possible. You must treat your courses with all seriousness, especially Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I hate to further remove you from your peers, however, I and the rest of the staff, feel that it is necessary."

"Did you have to be advanced in school?"

Dumbledore shook his head, "I was more advanced than my peers, but no, my magic was firmly under control, at least for the most part. This is not to say I did not find my own trouble, however, on its own, my magic was not threat without my direction. You may find your classes difficult in theoretical knowledge, but learning to cast wordlessly and the spells that require more energy, will help you improve."

"What about my free period?"

"I was hoping you might study with me for an hour or two a week."

"No," Potter said firmly, "I would rather not."

Oddly, Dumbledore did not argue the point, "Then Minerva has her free period at the same time. You can do your homework during that block and she will be available to help when you need it."

"Why are you still holding back information?" he asked directly. "Why can't you just tell me why Voldemort wants me dead? It is my life, I have a right to know."

Dumbledore looked very tired, "I'm afraid, Harry, that one answer will lead to several more questions, some having answers I do not have and others are simply not mine to tell. But as long as you are here, you are safe."

Potter stood abruptly, Fawkes chirping and flying back to his perch. "As long as I am here I will never be safe."

Severus watched the entire scene unfold from the shadows, and wondered if the Dark Lord was right that the boy might be tempted to switch sides. It seemed Albus was getting rusty at keeping the young under his thumb.

Once the boy had gone, Severus stepped out from the corner of the room, "Why are you holding back the truth from him?"

Albus sighed, "You may tell him if he asks you."

"Why?"

Sighing again the old man flicked one of the silver trinkets on his desk, causing the little spindles to spin. "I see too much hope in his eyes, Severus. I cannot be the one to take it away from him."

Severus huffed, laughing internally at himself, "But it is alright if I do it?"

"He's not going to ask you for help."

It was a statement, and a true one at that.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't." Severus sat where Potter had been seated. The phoenix did not come to him. He spoke softly, " _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…"_

Albus looked distant for a long, long moment, "He's died twice, Severus. Once then and once at my own hand. I don't believe he will have a third chance."

Severus remained quiet. He should tell him that the Dark Lord had contacted him. He should tell him. But Harry Potter wasn't the only to have doubts, to believe that Albus Dumbledore was holding back more than his share of secrets.

"Potter said that the Dark Lord told Lily to stand back, that he would have spared her if she gave her the child."

Albus's eyes focused on him, and Severus flinched at the reproach he saw there, "And don't you think Lily would have died a thousand times over for her son? What he offered her, Severus, it was not a mercy."

"Sometimes," he sighed, "I believe there is no greater evil in this world than the things we are driven to do out of love."

"No, my boy, it is the things we do in the absence of love, the cruelties and reckless choices we make because we were loved too little or mistook wanting of a thing as loving it."

Severus looked over Albus' shoulder to the clouds forming on the horizon. He wondered if the old man with all his wise words would have equally wise actions.

He doubted it, and perhaps it was that doubt that would get them killed.

Only time would tell.

* * *

Harry was very glad that he had asked Cho out early, it meant a week before the dance they were able to have a date, Harry's very first.

Hogsmeade was perhaps the most picturesque before the holidays, and though it was early in the evening the sun rode low in the sky. They started off their date at the pub, getting hot chocolates.

They talked extensively about Quidditch, a topic that was hard to exhaust, especially as Harry was unfamiliar with much of the sport's history -Chudley Cannons aside.

He hung on her every word and she seemed to bask in his attention. She looked at his scar more often than he would have liked, but she didn't ask him about it, for which he was grateful.

After they finished their hot chocolates, they began to pop into every store on the main stretch. Window shopping mostly, but they both ended up purchasing presents for their friends and family. It was nearly dark by the time they returned to the pub for a second, much needed, mug of hot cocoa.

They didn't talk much this time, content to let the cocoa warm their insides as people bustled around them.

On their way back to the castle, Cho held his hand.

It was one of the best days of his life.

* * *

Fleur fiddled with the sapphire pendant that hung from a silver-chain necklace her mother had gifted her. Her date, Cedric Diggory, a good looking Hufflepuff, who didn't grovel when she spoke to him, and she had been the first to arrive.

Soon Viktor and Harry joined them. Harry looked handsome in his emerald robes, the color bringing out the spectacular hue of his eyes.

She wished very much that she was on his arm, rather than the mystified seventh year who seemed not quite able to think of her as a real person.

It was all well and good to be thought of as beautiful, but altogether something else for beauty to set a woman as a thing apart from other girls.

Hermione came down the staircase, and Fleur wished more than anything that she could have been her. The way Harry's eyes lit up when she came to the head of the stairs made her heart twist.

"You look beautiful, 'Mione," he said.

"Yes," Viktor said thickly, "most beautiful."

Hermione flushed, "You all look handsome as well. And Fleur, you look stunning."

She nodded stiffly, she knew she looked wonderous in her silver gown, if only Harry would notice. She berated herself, _I only like him because he isn't interested, because he isn't available. Get over this distraction, Fleur Delacour._

Viktor's date came down the steps. She was lovely, in a silk Eastern gown, hair dark and moving in the slight breeze caused by her descent down the steps. Only Viktor barely spared her a glance, before returning to whatever Hermione was babbling about.

The look on Harry's face was remarkable, he looked at the Asian Beauty as if she were the only woman in the world.

Which is when Fleur realized she had made a mistake. The Ravenclaw girl, Cho Chang went straight to Harry who greeted her warmly, awkwardly but adorably complimenting the girl and her dress.

The Hogwarts' Transfiguration teacher came and had them line up. Fleur and her Hufflepuff first, followed by Viktor and Hermione and then Harry and his actual girlfriend.

Fleur felt utterly woebegone at her mistake, and wondered if she had missed her chance with the only boy she had ever felt a bit of true interest for.

* * *

Harry wasn't the best dancer, but he was a quick learner and by the fourth dance he was leading with some confidence. He felt like he was in a cloud of happiness.

He met Hermione's gaze a few pairs away and grinned at her. She grinned back, looking like a contented princess in Viktor's arms.

Which marked the rapid descent of the evening.

"You like Hermione," Cho said out of the blue.

Harry looked back at her, "Of course, she's my best friend."

"You're always with her."

"When I can be, harder now with the new schedule."

"I see," she said icily.

The silence that stood between them felt loud to Harry in the noise and music around them. Things did not improve during dinner when Cho began to flirt, yes, _flirt_ with Fleur's date, Cedric Diggory. The fricking Hufflepuff seeker who had beaten him when he had been attacked by a Dementor on the pitch.

An event that Cho brought up at the table.

If embarrassment and shame hadn't been his constant companion over the last month or so he would have been flushed, as it was he felt equal parts irritation and confusion.

Hermione exchanged a frown with him, as Cho laughed at a joke Cedric made -which was not at all funny, as she rested her hand on the seventh year's.

Hermione leaned into to whisper in his ear, "What did you do?"

He only shook his head, he had not the foggiest. He looked at Fleur who was stabbing her fork into bits of her food on her plate. She didn't seem to want to be here, nor did she seem as if she noticed Cedric encouraging Cho's attention.

Cho stood up suddenly and pulled on Cedric's hand. "Come dance with me," she said to Cedric.

"Um?" he said looking flustered as he glanced at his own date.

Fleur waved them away with a lazy gesture, "Go ahead, I don't feel much like dancing now."

Cho did not look at Harry, who gave Hermione a desperate look.

After they had gone, he slumped into his chair, "What just happened?"

Hermione snorted, "You ticked her off."

"How?"

"What did you say? What were you talking about on the dance floor."

Harry frowned, "She asked about you, I said you were my best friend and that we don't spend as much time together because of my new schedule."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said.

"What?"

"You should have said that we were just friends and complimented her and well, you should not have said the only reason you don't spend more time with me is because of your schedule."

"Why?"

"She thinks you like me."

"I do."

"She thinks you like- _like_ me."

"What!?" he exclaimed, "But we're just friends. I'll go tell her that if that's what she was askin-" He stopped mid-word as he turned in his seat to see Cho dancing with Cedric.

She looked happy, and the way she looked at Diggory… Harry slumped back into his seat, "Never mind, she looks like she is having fun."

Hermione looked at the dancing couple too and gave Harry sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she and Viktor headed back to the dance floor as well.

Which left Harry alone with Fleur who looked as glum as he felt. And despite his darkening mood, the music was nice, and he wished he was out there dancing. By the way Fleur was now tapping her fingers on the table, he thought perhaps she wanted the same.

"Fleur," Harry began.

Her sapphire eyes flicked up to him, and again he was struck by how her gaze focused on him rather than his scar. She waited for him to continue.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. Hermione was pretty, Cho was beautiful, but no one could hold a candle to Fleur Delacour. "Do you want to dance with me?" he asked.

Her smile stole his breath away, and he gave himself a kick as he stood to offer her his arm.

When they got to the dance floor the rest of the world seemed to disappear. He forgot about confusing female logic, and the people gawking at him -them, and forgot about the first crush he had ever had. Fleur was enchanting, and Harry noted that his attraction to her had little to do with her allure -which he wasn't even sure that he felt, but it did have everything to do with the person she was.

Fleur was fiery and cunning. She wasn't just in shape, she was an athlete, and moved with a grace that he had to struggle to do justice to. Sometimes she led them, and Harry found it easy to take her lead. He let her initiate the spins as she gave him enough signals for him to follow. Her force of personality, her will, sparkled in the depths of her dark blue eyes.

They didn't talk, just danced, losing themselves to the music. Harry wished he had taken her instead of Cho in the first place. But a woman like Fleur Delacour would never be interested in a boy like him.

Harry obviously wasn't good with girls, and he was scarred, and his magic was dangerous, and- and million other reasons for a girl not to want him.

But for the slow dance, the last dance of the night, Harry let himself imagine that she liked being in his arms as she rested her head on his shoulder. In heels, she was taller than him, but even so, they fit together.

Or at least he imagined they did. But Fleur Delacour was not interested in the likes of him. Still... it was a nice dream.

* * *

AN: I write my own stories and papers (so many papers). But I love your thoughts and musings, it is all that drives me to post fanfiction. Please, pretty, pretty please review?


	7. Chocolates

KEYNOTE: I didn't make a mistake, Fleur thought Cho was Viktor's date at first.

P.s. this is fanfiction, I am not going to develop every aspect of every relationship. Why? Because I would grow bored writing it. You want -details read _What We Lost_ and _Found in the Ashes_. This fic is going to be more fast paced and assume things I glance over have a reason to be gloss over -more often than not because how I image those interactions are pretty mundane.

Chapter 7 - Chocolates

Lee Jordan and the twins rose to the occasion in taking Harry under their wings. To say his classes were hard was a bit of an understatement. In order to keep up with the assignments, every essay was at least a foot or two shorter than the requirement. He achieved a P, for poor, more often than not. So far his highest grade was an A, for acceptable, on a Charms essay.

If it wasn't for the twins and Lee, Harry would be averaging a T for troll.

His practicals and classwork were another matter altogether. His performances were always Exceeds Expectations or Outstandings, however, the practicals presented their own troubles. Herbology aside -Harry had been working in gardens before Neville knew plants came from seeds. But his wand work was -tricksie.

It was about a week of futile struggles with wordless magic, until Fred had suggested they tape his mouth closed, then proceeded to jump him in the halls. They ended up clinging to the railings of one of the moving staircases. Harry clinging to the stones for dear life, Fred laughing so hard he almost lost his grip.

McGonagall had saved them, glaring at Fred's explanation of 'helping' Harry with his spellwork.

The wordless casting did help exponentially in maintaining some semblance of control over his magic. He felt like he was a dam that had burst at its seams and he was now being drowned in the resulting flood.

The twins and Lee practiced and did homework with him more than he had been training with other champions. They dueled against each other in rotating pairs, Harry fighting against someone and the other two acting as spotters, either as an additional shield who kept Harry from blowing himself into a wall -something which happened on a semi-regular basis.

On one such evening in DADA class, Harry managed to propel himself and Fred backward ten feet. Fred laughed, managing to keep his feet, Harry wasn't so lucky as George caught him before he crashed unceremoniously into a desk.

"Thanks, George," he breathed.

George put a hand on his heart, "Harry."

Fred made a pained noise like a kicked puppy, he came over to them, head hung.

Harry's smile fell, "Did I hurt you? Fred, I'm so, so sorry."

Fred gave a little sniff and George looked away.

Fred whispered something.

"What was that?" Harry asked, nearly panicked now.

"I'm George," Fred whispered, looking cowed.

A tear fell frown George's eye. "Even after all these years knowing us, teammates for so long, and these past weeks... in our classes every day and…" he covered his face with both his hands.

"You can't tell us apart," Fred said miserably.

Harry made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, raised his wand, and sent them both tumbling to the floor. They stayed there, laughing.

He pointed at one, turning his hair sky blue and then the other, turning his orange hair neon yellow. "George is yellow and Fred is blue, morons."

"How do you always know?" Lee asked. "If they come to me individually it isn't too hard, but together? They play off each other. They have it down to an art."

"You can see it in their eyes. Fred is always plotting and George is more cautious, doing risk assessment."

"You'll have to give our mum lessons, Harry," Fred said, grinning like a maniac.

"Potter," Moody growled.

"Yes, Sir?" Harry asked.

"You were able to perform the spell in levity. Keep that in mind how you were able to gauge your strength. Try again."

"Yes, Sir," he said dutifully. Harry wasn't sure why, Moody was a good teacher and all, but he was starting to dislike him more each day. Perhaps it was the way he was always watching him, perhaps it was the false niceness, or perhaps it was Harry's bad track record with DADA professors. Even Moony had almost taken a bite out of him last year.

The twins grinned at him, and before getting up to continue class they switched partners. It was now George attempting to get through Harry's defenses, they had mixed results. As long as he wasn't trying to shield against them, they had a fighting chance. If he was using his shields, well... the Horntail couldn't get through his shields. However Harry's offensive was spotty, his offense was just as likely to affect him as the twin he was fighting.

Being 'the Next Albus Dumbledore' was more work and frustration than Harry had ever wanted.

* * *

Severus was infuriated and debated with himself against this foolish idea. Albus _and_ Voldemort wanted to advance Potter up to the sixth year Potions.

What bothered him more was that, between leaving Potter to his own devices, and taking him away from his peers, the boy was a decent potion brewer.

Of course, he didn't know what he was brewing or the properties of the ingredients he was using. But even Severus couldn't find fault with the meticulous way he went through each step. He was also better with a blade than most and his timing was impeccable.

To Severus' great consternation, he worked his way through every fifth year potion, that could be brewed in a day, with ease and to the highest quality the textbooks could have allowed for.

Textbooks were unlike Potion Journals (highly coveted and protected private collections of recipes and instructions). Textbooks were designed to have subdued results. Why? Because they were easier to be undone by healers and the side-effects were often less permanent. Severus didn't completely agree with that government decision, nor the Headmaster's aquesetaince to it. On the other hand, it meant that students such as Neville Longbottom had yet to get himself, or others, killed.

"You will not be able to cut through the skin, crush it with the side of your blade for the juices," he advised in a subdued voice.

The raven haired clone of his old enemy, nodded his head and did as instructed

Watching Potter brew, and restraining from voicing the odd bitter comment, Severus felt well and truly out of his element.

The Dark Lord had contacted him through a scrying mirror. Despite not being able to see a face in the white fog, there was no mistaking the burn in his Dark Mark. The mirror had appeared in his office with a note that had read simply, _You have been summoned._

The Dark Lord had asked him to take Potter under his wing, seduce the boy into trusting him and expose him to the Dark Arts. It was the last thing he or Albus had expected for the Dark Lord to ask for or want. Severus hadn't told Albus yet.

For one, there were was no other way for Albus to know of the Dark Lord's return except through him, which, triple agent or no, would still come with consequences. Besides, Albus seemed all too willing to risk the boy's life.

Severus didn't have to like the child to want Lily's son to stay healthy and alive. Introducing Potter to the Dark Arts would be… Severus would have to be very careful in trying to appease the Dark Lord in this and not have Potter and his friends come after his job.

They broke for lunch.

Swallowing his pride, Severus praised, "Well done, Mr. Potter."

Potter looked at him as if he had just grown a second head.

It took more effort than was pretty to not snap at him.

"In order to jump a year, you will have to study over the summer. And during this spring break, you will be taking a condensed run through of the first half of year six with me."

Potter said nothing.

Unable to help himself, Severus asked through gritted teeth, "What?"

"Why?" he asked in return. "My magic isn't jumping out of control in Potions, or Herbology for that matter. Why move me up? You're not even moving me up one year but two."

"Like I said, you will have to do a lot of work over the summer holidays."

"But why?"

Severus sighed, it wasn't like he could say the Dark Lord wanted it and Albus… well, Severus didn't pretend to understand the Headmaster's plans. So, with nothing else, he gave the easy lie, "Scheduling issues."

"My schedule is fine."

"It wouldn't be for next year."

Potter sighed, "Fine. What about my free period? I am not returning to Divinations."

If he only what part he and that drunkard had played in the Potters' demise…

"You will be having your directed study with myself as your free period lines up with mine."

The look he received made Severus wonder if he had grown a third head, with large fangs.

"You want to spend an extra two hours with me every week?"

"I don't mind." He did. "Not if you conduct yourself as you have this morning."

"You mean ' _making no noise and pretending I'm not there_ '?" He asked, sounding as if he were quoting someone.

"No," Severus said. He was about to attempt to build a bridge that had never, _ever,_ wanted to construct, "You reminded me of your mother today."

Emerald eyes sharpened, "You knew my mother?"

He would have rathered stabbed himself than discuss Lily, especially with James Potter's spawn. But he had been a spy too long to fail here. "We grew up in the same neighborhood, we were friends before going to Hogwarts."

"What was she like?"

Severus gave him a speculative look, "Surely people have told you what your parents are like. Why would you want to hear what I thought of her?"

"Remus told me about her a bit. Said she always saw the best in people. Everyone else says she was wonderful but that really doesn't tell me much."

"Doesn't Tuni talk about her little sister?"

The boy's eyes widened, "Tuni? You mean Aunt Petunia, that's funny. But no, except to say that she was a fool for marrying my father."

Severus felt the oddest sensation in being in agreement with Whiny Tuni. "Lily always saw the best in people, however, she also had a temper. She was especially skilled in Charms and not bad at Potions. Lily was popular at school but did not have many people she depended on. It was harder in those days being a muggleborn."

"What did she do after she graduated Hogwarts?"

"She worked with Professor Flitwick to get her mastery in Charms, and then she fought in the war."

"And then she had me," he added, looking glum. "Why would anyone want a baby in the middle of the war?"

Severus had asked himself that question many, many times, but he said the thing that would get Potter closer to their side. "Life goes on, Mr. Potter. Fear and hatred cannot stop that."

The look the boy gave him was very close to many Lily had given him all those years ago. It dawned on Severus that this boy who wore his father's persona so very well, was more like his mother than anyone else. Gifted in Charms, temperamental, and with more morals than was survivable.

"Thank you, Professor," he said before leaving Severus to his memories and regrets.

* * *

Harry walked around the side of a stack of shelves and froze at the sight he saw.

On one of the low sofas, Hermione sat with a book -not unsurprisingly, and Viktor's head on her thigh. He looked asleep but for his hand that was tangled in her hair. They looked... peaceful.

Hermione was a consumer of knowledge and though she seemed interested in her book, she seemed not so lost in it to prevent her from running an idle hand through Victor's hair as well.

Harry backtracked and left the two to themselves. Hermione hadn't confided much in him during the last few weeks. Seeing as he wasn't around that much, he should have expected that but in his absence, she had grown closer to Viktor.

Harry liked Viktor a lot, he wasn't the most talkative person, but he had a good head on his shoulders and listened carefully to anyone who spoke. On top of being a thoughtful person, something his sometimes gruff exterior hid, he was also a powerful wizard. For the first task, he had had enough power to send his dragon to sleep with one spell to the eye.

Neither the dragon nor her clutch had been harmed. Harry supposed his regular route might have been more… brutal but he had heard Hermione when she had expressed worry for the dragons.

He supposed it was the beginning of how Viktor had won Hermione over. While Harry missed having her around but his schedule and workload kept him busy.

He missed Ron too, he thought as he walked back to Gryffindor tower. But given how much time he spent with the twins and Lee Jordan, he couldn't say he was missing Weasleys.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked upon entering the twins' dorm room.

"Are you going to help?" Fred asked, looking up hopefully.

"Perhaps," he lied, "but I would like to know what we are doing."

"We are making truffles."

The twins grinned.

But then George sighed, "The potion we have down, it is the chocolatey flavor we can't get right."

Harry sighed, "Let me see the recipe."

Grinning Fred handed him the book of wicked baked good. Harry's read of the directions was sparse and unhelpful. It was more of an ingredient list, aside from the one clue about mixing the warm cream in with the cocoa first.

"Well," Harry began, "you're in luck. I know how to bake and this recipe is missing salt and vanilla."

The twins had to adjust their potion to the new ingredients but according to them -because Harry refused to be turned into an armadillo, they tasted fantastic.

Harry was glad to pick up new techniques and information about potions. The twins talked animatedly, despite not always following a single train of thought. He learned more from them in one evening than three years of potions with Snape. Which was good because Harry, regrettably, would be joining their class. George agreed to be his partner and Fred would partner with Lee who was the odd person in the class.

* * *

"You bake."

He nodded and popped one of the delicate truffles into his mouth.

Warily, Fleur did the same. She nearly groaned as the flavor of rich bitter sweetness overcame her senses. Damn them if what they said about women and chocolates wasn't true. The number of girls who didn't like chocolate was tiny, but any woman who did like chocolate, truly _liked_ chocolate.

"Good?" Harry asked her.

She couldn't help but purr her hmmhmm.

He blushed, but grinned, "Glad they're up to your French standards."

The blush was _something_ , at least. But, day by day, she was becoming more irritated that none of her charm, flirtation, or hints had half that effect on him. On one hand part of the reason she liked him was because he obviously saw her as pretty but didn't fall prey to her allure, a factor that she was beginning to believe had to do with his level of will and self control. His powers were unwieldy, but that was because he buried it so deep and so thoroughly as to experience repression side effects. That he was able to brush off the imperious -if rumours were to be believed, instantaneously then his ability shrug of her allure must have been habitual, by all accounts he seemed unaware he was doing anything at all.

But he was still a heterosexual male, a younger boy that she should have had wrapped around her finger in a snap. But he wasn't so easily caught. He was apparently oblivious to most of her overtures and she wasn't quite sure how to seduce him without being manipulative or so blunt to make even herself uncomfortable.

He was an enigma, a puzzle she wanted to solve. She wanted him all to herself and she was surprised that the more he held out, the more she wanted him. It wasn't like this was her first attempt at a relationship but it was her first time being the pursuer, rather than the pursued.

If he wasn't so damned polite she might have been offended at having to try so hard. However, taking insult from Harry was like being mad at sunshine for shining, it wasn't his fault he lit up a room, it was just his nature.

And her father was on to her. She had always been close with her family, hard not to be when everyone outside of the family treated her as less than human. But she had always been closest with her father, whose patience was infinite and whose support always gave her strength.

After her last letter home, one she couldn't quite remember what details she had shared about the boy she had danced with at the Yule ball, her father had written back. And in his neat handwriting, she could hear the tone of amusement in the words.

 _Alors, qu'est-ce que tu aimes chez ce garçon?_

'So, what do you like about this boy?'

It was embarrassing that he'd seen through her, though not unexpected. What was perhaps most embarrassing was that she was truly smitten with Harry Potter.

If she was being objective, he wasn't all that handsome. He was a bit scrawny, scarred, and three years younger than her. _But_ he was sweet, strong, and above all else, treated her like she was a person. Not an object of lust, not subhuman, and never like an air-headed girl, but a real flesh and blood person.

And, perhaps, she was enamoured that he treated everyone that way. And there was something that drove her to want to be special to him. For him not just to be respected but inspire more in him.

She wasn't in love with him. But she could imagine the possibility of that depth of feeling.

Only, he was so damned oblivious to everything.

"You can have the rest," he said, holding out the plain box to her.

She blinked at him, having been jerked from her musings.

His eyes were so green, no one had eyes like him.

"Fleur? I promise I didn't let the twins poison them."

She took the box, " _Merci_. Where did you learn to bake?"

"My aunt had me baking and cooking by the time I could stand."

She frowned. "Isn't that a bit dangerous?"

He shrugged, "Oil burns are not fun, but I was a quick learner."

"Do you like cooking?"

He thought about it for a moment, it was as if no one had ever asked him that nor had he thought about it before. "I don't like being forced to do anything. However, I think I do like baking and cooking. I like making things."

"You think?" Fleur asked, " _Pourquoi?"_

He smiled, though it was bitter around the edges. "If I get to eat when I'm in the kitchen, I like it. But I don't like the smell of hot food on an empty stomach."

She wanted to poke at that, she _really_ did. But a part of Harry being humble was him being private. And she knew that if she attempted to bull down his walls he would avoid her.

So instead she said, _"Donc,_ if you ever feel like learning _repas français,_ I'd be happy to sit at your table."

He raised a brow, unconsciously stretching the pale scars on his right side.

It pleased her that he didn't seem to remember he had scars around her. She could tell because in the halls he was often ducking his head and avoiding eye contact with everyone. But never with her. With her, he always made eye contact and never hunched his shoulders.

"You cook?" he asked, sounding disbelieving.

And rightly so.

"Of course not, _mais_ , I like eating and I have excellent tastes."

He grinned, "Alright, but you have to find the recipe so you can't hold me completely liable if your French food isn't as good as you claim it is."

She sniffed, "I'll take you to the continent and you'll never want to come back to this _triste_ island."

" _Triste?_ " he asked, mercifully his accent wasn't terrible. There was nothing worse than Englishman's accent when speaking in her beautiful mother tongue, with the exception of an American accent. But luckily for her, she didn't encounter many Americans.

"Sad. Your _petit triste_ island."

He huffed a laugh, "Alright, _mademoiselle,_ on that note let's practice."

She rose to her feet and carried her gift to a safe-ish corner of the room.

Their duels were always a lot of fun. Harry had an artless grace about him. He moved like he was a skittish doe and a bird whose wings had caught the wind. He was never still and could avoid most spells before she had even released them.

It was a lot of running around and quick thinking to keep up with him, something that delighted her. He wasn't bothered by her competitive nature, which warmed, since most men felt demasculinized by her talent.

It was possible that his reflexives were better than hers, but her endurance was better. He was always more winded than her after an hour. Of course, that might have had more to do with the amount of strength he expended in overcharged spells and trying to control his magic.

Though his 'control' wasn't all that great.

His last spell had shot out a gust that expanded outwards, in _both_ directions.

Fleur was able to shield against it, but Harry was knocked off his feet. He fell forwards and just barely caught himself on his hands and forearms before his nose met stone.

He grunted and she winced, that had to have hurt.

He rolled over on his back and she sat down beside him. She grinned down at him. "I could say you keep stealing my victories. Potter one, Potter zero."

"Ha ha," he drawled, but she could see the humor sparkling in his eyes.

He sat up. "It's been a month or so, and I can't help feeling I'm getting worse."

"You are growing more powerful, but I wouldn't say worse. Your spells are increasing in variety and precision. Most of the time anyway."

He looked away from her, "Yeah, more dangerous too."

"Harry," she put a hand on his knee, "it's going to be alright."

"What if I hurt someone I care about? I don't want to hurt anyone by accident."

"That's why you're at school. It takes time, you have to give yourself time."

He looked at her, the emerald of his irises surrounding the black ink drops of his pupils. His lips were slightly parted.

It would be so easy to lean in and-

He stood up abruptly, "Time, right. That reminds me, I have a stack of papers to get through for tomorrow. I'll see you later, Fire Girl."

"Good bye-" she began as he all but ran for the door. "Flyboy…" she finished as the door shut behind him.

She sighed, got up, stretched, then retrieved her box of chocolates. He always left in such a rush.

She had put a hand on his leg, no boy had ever run away from her when she initiated touch. She glared at the door and popped a truffle into her mouth.

Now that she was alone, she allowed herself a groan at the rich chocolatey taste with a hint of raspberry. She closed her eyes to savour the moment.

In all her attempts at seduction, it seemed he was the one seducing her.

* * *

The image of Fleur's sapphire eyes looking at him as if she might eat him was seared into his brain.

For a moment, he had thought she was going to kiss him. She had touched him, leaned in, and-

 _No_ , he told himself firmly, _there is no way someone like that would like someone like me_.

Fleur Delacour was the most remarkable person he had ever met. Self-assured, brilliant, and witty. He could go on, and on, about the list of things he liked about the older girl. But that was the thing, she was older and beautiful, and he was runty and, well, he didn't want to look at himself in a mirror.

His scars weren't that bad but the way everyone looked at him, he might as well have had acid burns or something.

But his friends didn't make him feel that way, and Fleur…

 _Had she been about to kiss me?_

He couldn't get the way she looked at him out his mind. If she had wanted to eat him, he would have let her and gone out with a smile.

But she hadn't been about to kiss him. _Had she?_

He shook his head, of course not, it was just his imagination running away with him.

But she had looked at him as if he were the only light in the darkness...

He snorted at himself. He was being ridiculous.

When he got into the common room he was relieved to see Hermione in an armchair on her own, for once.

"Hermione," he breathed in relief plopping down across from him.

She looked up with brows raised, "Hi Harry, you alright?"

He nodded, then shook his, "Can I ask you a question?"

She frowned, "Of course."

"You and Viktor are dating, right? Girlfriend, boyfriend?"

"Yes," she said, an unconscious smile curling her lips. She shut her book, "Now, what's the matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair, "Does the age difference bother you? Does it bother him?"

She gave him a knowing smirk, "No, it doesn't." Then her face fell into more serious lines. "Harry, you and I, were not like most people. For the last four years, we have faced death and consequences that most people our age couldn't even imagine. So yes, technically Viktor is three years older than me, and will graduate when I still have two years left of school, _however_ , in four years, when I'm eighteen and he's twenty-one no one is going to care."

"Yeah, but you're fourteen and seventeen now."

"Well considering how much I used the time turner last year, more like fifteen and seventeen, but that is besides the point. Harry, you aren't a child. You don't have to belittle yourself. If you want to be with Fleur Delacour, then be with Fleur."

He felt his face heat, "You knew?"

She smirked again, "I saw you at the ball, everyone did. The way you look at her-"

"I don't gawk at her," he said a bit heatidly. He was not like the mobs of boys who swooned at her every word.

"Let me finish," Hermione reprimanded, "The way you look at her is only outmatched by the way she looks at you."

He knew his face must be scarlet at this point, "That's not true."

Hermione whapped him over the head with her book, "Get your head out of the cauldron, Harry. You don't have to keep proving you're oblivious. We get it already. But next time you're in a room with her, pay attention."

He thought if he tried paying anymore attention he would lose his reserve. But, perhaps, that was a battle he was willing to concede. An image of Fleur eating one of his chocolates flashed through his mind.

He would gladly learn to cook French meals for her.

* * *

AN: Sappy, yes, but I needed it, hope you enjoyed it. Please review for your poor author who drowning in real world responsibilities?


	8. Water, Wind, and Fire

AN: I take artistic liberties with Mr. Delacour. Live with it. Thank you to my reviewers and supporters! You've been so good to me I figured I'd give you another chapter.

Chapter 8 - Water, Wind, and Fire

"George!" Fred yelled, "George! Has anyone seen George!"

He was panicking. For the first time in his life, he didn't know where his twin where. He hadn't come back last night. He always came back.

The second task was starting and people were streaming to the stands.

Fred waited at the shores, in the front where people stood.

He was too worried about his brother to even cheer Harry on. Harry, who was about to trust Professor Snape's potion ingredients that he had graciously, and uncharacteristically, given to him. Gillyweed that Longbottom had shared with him from his plant book.

People laughed at Harry as he stood in the water waiting for the plant to work its magic.

Delacour had used a bubble head charm and Krum had somehow managed to transform himself into a merman. Although, unlike the people in their textbooks, he looked a bit more human. His skin had gone grey, his hair dark green, but his face still looked like his own, and his tail was a lot stocker than a true merperson's tail.

"They took hostages," someone whispered.

Fred turned on the seventh year Ravenclaw boy. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"They took people they love down there."

"Who?" Fred snarled, having a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Hermione Granger, the Veela girl's sister, and your-"

Fred had already turned back to face the water before he finished. He had half a mind to go in there himself.

They had taken his brother. His better half, they had taken him for this stupid game. And if the first task had proven anything, the threats were very real.

Harry had shared what the egg had said and those words now haunted him.

 _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

 _An hour long you'll have to look,_

 _And to recover what we took,_

 _But past an hour, the prospect's black,_

 _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

Fred spent the next hour hardly breathing. Five minutes, fifteen, thirty, and at forty-five two heads broke the surface.

Krum and Hermione. Krum looking human again, and Hermione was laughing.

Fred didn't think there was anything funny in being forced to the bottom of the lake.

The next to break the surface was Fleur. She didn't look like she was having fun. In fact, she looked like she was barely staying afloat.

He waited for a count of ten for someone to go help her. No one did.

Cursing, Fred slipped off his shoes and socks, took his over-robe off and plunged into the icy water. He was done sitting on the sidelines, he had to do something.

He was a decent swimmer and he reached the silver haired woman in little time. She clung to him the moment her flailing hand met his outstretched arm.

" _Ma sœur! Ma sœur,"_ she gasped, "They took my sister."

Fred could barely make out what she was saying, her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. For once he didn't feel the girl's allure, and though she was still pretty, he was a bit more concerned with her blue lips and her trembling limbs.

She felt so cold in his arms, weak even, he started swimming to the docks, were the champions had started, that were closer than the floating stands.

A dark haired man with sea blue-green eyes jumped into the water, lifting the nearly unconscious girl from his arms. He climbed back onto the dock -not so hard for someone of his height. Fred wasn't short, and even he was a bit intimidated by the man's stature, a feeling that grew when he turned to the judges and started cursing at them all in French.

Apparently, he was Fleur's father. He flicked his wand at her, a drying and warming charm probably.

Fleur came back to herself in ten minutes, she began to struggle against her father's hold. But he wouldn't let her go back into the water, whispering to her French.

The judges were starting to look worried.

It was nothing to how Fred felt, he stood in the hip deep water, waiting, and waiting, for Harry and his brother to emerge. It was five past an hour now. Ten past. Fifteen.

And then, three heads disturbed the waves.

" _George!"_ Fred shouted.

A hand waved at him. And Fred swam out to them.

"Were you worried, dummy?" George asked.

Fred shoved his brother's head underwater, when he came back up, he snarled, "I'd like to see what you do if I went missing one night and get put into this-"

"Fred," Harry chided him.

Fred paused and looked at Harry and the little girl with him. She didn't look much better than Fleur had. If anything she looked more afraid and confused.

Fleur Delacour had looked more furious, as opposed to confused.

They were back in no time and Harry passed the girl to her father and her worried older sister.

"I'm sorry," George said softly, "If I had known what they were going to ask I would have told you where I was going."

"Next time," Fred said, not so softly, "Tell them no."

* * *

Harry was enraged by the second task. What a stupid, dangerous idea. Harry had waited too long for Fleur to show up. He should have just rescued the little girl first. When they broke the surface she hadn't woken up as fast as George had.

He was going to pull a Mauaradur on any and every dunderhead who thought to mix a Veela -a creature of fire and wind, with cold water. It wasn't like they couldn't be in the water, but Fleur had told him that in high stress circumstances it was harder to use their magic in large bodies of water.

He was attempting to get back on the dock, his limbs felt like lead, from exertion, and his skin felt numb from the cold.

Fleur offered him a hand, he took the help and looked up into her face.

Her expression was ...was indescribable, intense. Her sapphire eyes looked too large for her face, her silver hair blew around her face, and at that moment Harry decided she was the most beautiful person he had ever met, or ever would meet, inside and out.

She yanked him out of the water, and he had barely caught his balance when he felt her free hand at the back his neck, and then she pulled him into a kiss.

For a moment the world fell away, and he was warm. He knew only the softness of her lips and the feel of her hands cupping his face.

When she pulled back he could only blink at her in shock.

She smirked at him.

"You are most welcome at our home, _mon fils,_ " a man said with a discernible, but not overpowering, French accent.

Harry looked around and thought that if he wasn't still soaked in cold lake water he would have been flushed.

Fleur grinned, "Papa, this is Harry Potter, Harry this is _mon père,_ Émeric Delacour."

"Nice to meet you, Sir," Harry said on autopilot. He couldn't believe he had just had his first kiss with Fleur, his first kiss _ever,_ in front of her father.

Émeric Delacour gave him a slight nod and slight uptilt of lips. "You are welcome in our home, Monsieur Potter."

Harry realized that Fleur hadn't just received her good looks from her mother's side. His long hair was dark brown, almost as black as Harry's, his eyes were a startling bluish green, he was tall, and well built. Harry doubted it would have taken this man long to swim to the bottom of the lake if he had been able to breathe underwater.

"Harry, you did really well."

He turned to Hermione, who had spoken, and who looked warm and dry with Victor's arm around her shoulders.

"Thanks," he said. He shivered the cold was creeping back in.

Fleur raised her left hand at him, and suddenly he felt like he was under a blow drying. The flame at her palm emitting heat like a furnace.

He leaned toward her like leaves toward the sun.

Fleur's sister ran at him out of nowhere. She was dry now despite still being a little too pale. But she seemed to be bursting with energy. She was smiling and talking in such rapid French he doubted he would have understood her even if he knew the language.

He put a hand on her back and said, "Sorry, I don't speak French."

"We will fix that," Mr. Delacour said.

" _Merci_ for saving me," Fleur's sister said, her accent thick but sounding somehow musical.

Fleur introduced them, "Harry, Gabrielle. Gabrielle, Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Gabrielle," he said with a smile.

She smiled back, her eyes twinkling, a much paler blue than her sister's. She began talking animatedly in French again.

Mr. Delacour laughed, and Fleur's cheeks went pink.

Harry didn't know what Gabrielle had said and he didn't ask, but he was glad it wasn't him becoming flustered, for once.

The scores were given and Viktor, unsurprisingly, was in the lead. He received the full fifty points as he had for the first task. Harry received twenty-five in addition to his twenty points, and Fleur received twenty-five in addition to her forty-five. A hundred points, seventy points, and in the last place, Harry with fifty-five points.

Harry didn't care, he was happy to be alive with Fleur, George, and Gabrielle safe.

Fleur had other ideas. She turned on the judges with flame smoldering at her sides where her fists were clenched. "Harry deserves more than lousy twenty-five points. He rescued _two_ hostages and would have been back in time without waiting for me to rescue my sister."

Karkaroff sneered at her, "His own idiocy. We wouldn't have let the girl come to harm."

Mr. Delacour stepped in then, "My daughters have Veela blood in their veins, you cannot put them under a lake without causing them harm. You did not ask my permission to take my youngest child into such danger. She is not even in school yet, she could not have appropriately consented to this task."

"The tasks were arranged last year, we can't change them because of who was selected by the Goblet. Either your daughter is strong enough to overcome her birth or she simply isn't equal. And perhaps it is you who should learn how to control your offspring," Karkaroff went on.

Harry wasn't sure what compelled him, he really shouldn't have done it, after all, Mr. Delacour and Fleur had been able to hold their tempers. But Harry's control wasn't all that great of late, and when he felt his power rise he let go.

Without raising his wand he felt his magic lash out, those closest to him, the Delacours, the twins, Hermione, and Viktor just had their hair whipped about, but the gust of wind grew as it pushed further out. And when it hit the judges it pushed them and their table splashing into the lake.

Karkaroff, Maxime, Dumbledore, Bagman, and Percy went tumbling into the ice cold water. They came up flailing, well except for Maxime who emerged from the waves as one would from a swimming pool, calm and collected.

Karkaroff was cursing in his native tongue. His heavy robes seemed to be dragging him down so that he kept bobbing in and out of the water gasping between exclamations.

Dumbledore looked less than elegant, though not as distressed as Karkaroff. His legs seemed to have become tangled in his robes because he was using his arms to keep himself afloat. Maxime came around to him, putting an arm around his torso and swam them both back to shore.

Madame Pomfrey immediately started fretting over him, apparently old age and shocks of cold water wasn't a great mix.

As for Percy and Bagman, they floundered, too proud to ask for help but such poor swimmers that it took them the longest to get back on the dock.

"Sorry," Harry called out, not really sounding all that apologetically.

Fred and George were bent double laughing. Percy glared at them all like a cat who had just received a surprise and a very unwelcome bath.

"Harry," Hermione chided.

Fleur kissed his cheek and hugged him, Gabrielle who was still hugging his waist looked up at him with adoring eyes, as if he had just become a god in her world.

Considering it was for saving her life and defending her honor, he was not as bothered as he was with everyone else who had looked at him like that. Like Ginny, for instance, who had only known him from the fairy tales stories she had been told about his parents' death.

Mr. Delacour winked at him.

The judges, however, were none too pleased with Harry.

Maxime seemed a bit ambivalent, waving her wand over herself to dry off. Dumbledore was out of sorts, but defended Harry when Karkaroff started threatening to deduct points, after he finally clambered back onto the floating dock. He had lost his furred hat, boots, and outer robes in the lake. He tried to summon them but a few of the merpeople had snatched them away into the depths.

In the end, Harry received no punishment because it was well known that he was dealing with the side effects of repressed magic and there was no way to prove he had done it on purpose. Harry wasn't even positive that he had done it on purpose, he had wanted to do something, but not necessarily blowing them into the water.

Fleur and Gabrielle went out to eat with their father in Hogsmeade, and though they invited Harry, Dumbledore refused to let him go -as did Madame Pomfrey. Harry spent the night in the hospital wing, the healer monitoring him for spikes of magic or magical exhaustion.

It wasn't quite the victory he had been hoping for, but it kept the twins from picking on him. It also gave him time to replay Fleur's kiss in his mind, over and over again.

He fell asleep with a smile.

* * *

The Hogwarts' students were not happy about being in last place because of Harry's supposed misplaced heroics, but even the Slytherins thought it was good fun that he had dunked the judges in the lake.

It was, for the first time that Harry could remember since Neville's boggart that the professors were subjected to whispers, and secret laughs, from the majority of the school. Even some of the other professors seemed to be amused. One day he caught Flitwick and McGonagall grinning at him as he passed, humour dancing in their eyes after a soft remark exchanged between them.

It was a harmless enough act, and yet spectacular enough that both friends and foes of Albus Dumbledore appeared to be united.

Dumbledore being Dumbledore, took all the attention with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

Maxime acted as if nothing had happened and as for Karkaroff, Harry avoided him at all costs.

It was one week before Harry was able to meet up with Fleur alone. The addition of sixth year Potions, and the increasing amount of work for other classes, had him swamped with writing papers and studying.

But he made time on Friday night to meet in their usually empty classroom.

"Harry," she greeted with a warm smile.

The way she said his name made him feel as if he were being blessed.

She came to him, gave him a hug then pulled back, kissed both his cheeks before leading him to the window seat on the opposite side of the room.

His stomach was in knots, he had no idea what he was supposed to do with himself, how he was supposed to act around her now.

Fleur squeezed the hand she still held in hers, "'Arry," she said, leaving off the 'H' which he kind of liked.

He met her gaze and was lost for a moment, mesmerized by the emotions he saw there, emotions for _him._

"I like you a lot," she said.

His chest felt tight and his words were a bit strained when he replied, "I like you a lot too."

Her smile shattered his heart. She leaned in to kiss him, reassembling his heart in the process.

It beat like a hummingbird. He lifted his hand, tentatively touched the side of her face. Her skin was softer than he could have imagined and the fall her silvery hair on the back of his hand felt like gossamer.

This kiss was searching, and where he stumbled she caught the lead. When she pulled back he was short of breath.

"A lot," he gasped, "I like you a lot."

" _Bon,"_ she said, before claiming another kiss.

Sometime later, both their lips were swollen, and Harry filled with a happiness he had never known, they talked about their families, or rather Fleur did.

"Gabrielle is in love with you," she informed him, "' _Arry m'a sauvé. Quand pouvons-nous revoir 'Arry?_ "

"Which means?" he asked.

"Harry saved me, when do we get to see Harry again?"

He grinned, "She's sweet."

Fleur nodded, "She is. She's a better person than I am. She's already so talented and kind. I could never be as kind as her."

"You're pretty amazing, Fire Girl."

She grinned, "You and Gabrielle are both better people than I am, I wouldn't have rescued your friend."

"My friend isn't an eight-year-old girl."

She snorted, an ungraceful gesture that she managed to make cute, "True enough."

"You're dad seemed nice."

"Most people are intimidated by him."

Harry shrugged, "I've met you."

She glared at him, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gave her grin that Hermione always rolled her eyes at, "Because you're probably the most dangerous person in the Delacour family."

She glared at him harder, but couldn't hold it, her lips twitching into a smile. "Mama always says men should fear their girlfriends or wives. Women are, after all, craftier and cleverer than men give them credit for."

"I'll never underestimate you, Fleur, you've kicked my butt too often for that," he said before what she said fully sank in. "Did you say girlfriend?" There was a distinct note of hope in his tone.

She kissed him again, before declaring, "You are mine Monsieur Potter, my boyfriend."

He was pretty sure he looked like a fool he was smiling so hard. "I think I can live with that," he said coolly, his tone contrasted with the expression of joy he was no doubt wearing.

She huffed and pulled him into another kiss. Her being taller meant that it was he who had to tilt his face upward. He didn't mind.

Her kisses were like fire.

* * *

He was so shy, Fleur thought, but his kisses were like lightning. Electricity tingled anywhere her skin touched his.

She had kissed boys before, but no one and nothing, could compare to this. The more time she spent with him, the more her feelings grew. She wasn't sure if she even saw him clearly anymore. By the end of their first 'date,' she was sure he was the most handsome, most beautiful person she knew.

He tasted like the wind, and his every touch was reverent, making her feel cherished.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest, a heart that up until now, she hadn't been certain she had. She hadn't expected it to feel quite so big.

It seemed that in getting to know Harry Potter, she was getting to know herself. She had always known that she was isolated from other people, but until today she had never felt so acutely what she was missing.

* * *

AN: More reviews, please? Truly, your thoughts and reactions are the only reason I post. Writing on my own is so much easier when I don't have to edit ;)

Thank you to all those who have been supporting my stories, you have all helped me through a lot of rough patches.


	9. The Lamb, the Bad Boy, and the Vixens

Dear French Speakers,

Feel free to call me out on spelling and grammar, or any French screw ups. Dyslexia may screw with me but that isn't an excuse for me to screw up another's language when I am only using short phrases.

Warmly,

Jacob

AN: This fic will be finished in the sixth book, not sure how long the fic will really be. I am kind of enjoying the quickish pace to this one but Umbridge and Voldy are on the horizon.

BETA: Look who's back! That awesome guy Ahrnberg. Many, many thanks!

Chapter 9 - The Lamb, the Bad Boy, and the Vixens

Sirius was drowning in books, not just any books but freaking Dark Art books. James must be rolling in his grave.

But this was for Harry.

Or so he told himself. Sirius hadn't practiced the Dark Arts since he started at Hogwarts. Truthfully, the Dark Arts weren't all bad. At its core, it was wild magic and just like any other magic, it could be used for good or bad. Only, with Dark Arts, the line between right and wrong weren't exactly clear.

Luckily for Sirius, whenever he got frustrated or appalled -either with what he was reading or himself, he had an entire house to take it out on. Renovations at Grimmauld Place number twelve was not a speedy process. As far as he was concerned, after months, it was still in the demolition phase.

Sirius was flipping through a history of Herpo the Foul, written by one of the long dead Black prodigies, when he came onto a soul splitting curse, and the thoerizing of living creatures being carriers, not just objects.

Creatures, like familiars… and people.

 _The Horcrux can possess a living creature, though non-magical creatures will die. It is theorized, yet untested, that a wizard may be able to resist the possession. When a Horcrux is destroyed, black smoke is emitted, accompanied by a wailing noise._

 _A Horcrux can posses a living creature, though non-magical creatures would die. It is theorized, yet untested, that a wizard may be able to resist the possession…_

 _When a Horcrux is destroyed, it will emit black smoke, accompanied by a wailing noise._

Sirius blinked at the short passage, and then reread it. He summoned Harry's letters and reread those. He finished reading the entire book, then reread it all again.

"Merlin save us," he whispered.

* * *

Harry had never been happier. Fleur was… he didn't have words for how incredible she was, or what she meant to him.

She sat at the Gryffindor table with him, much to the disturbance to the other students. And it wasn't helped by the fact that Viktor had begun sitting next to Hermione every day either.

By the looks that Ron was giving them all, Harry wasn't sure who he was more jealous of. Whether it was Hermione with Viktor, Viktor's attention, Hermione's friendship with Harry, the twins' friendship with Harry, or Harry being with Fleur.

One day Fleur got sick of those looks and put an arm around Harry's shoulder. He turned to face her and the next thing he knew she was kissing him.

Like every time they kissed, he forgot everything around him.

When she pulled back the twins were whistling and laughing, while Ron looked as if he had just eaten a hot pepper.

"Arry," Fleur began as they walked through the halls one day the following week. "My father invited you out to lunch for the next Hogsmeade weekend, if you want to come?"

"Of course," he said. Although, for a moment, he averted his eyes.

She caught his wrist, "What is it?" she half demanded.

He shook his head, "Just, a little nervous. I mean, meeting your parents is a big deal, right?"

"You've already met my father," Fleur pointed out.

He flushed at the memory of their first kiss, _in front_ of her father. "Yeah, but your mum-"

"They love you. You saved Gaberielle. I think she might like you even more than I do. Every letter she sends is filled with questions about you."

He smiled, "Your sister is very sweet."

She nodded, "The sweetest."

They continued walking the halls, slowly making their way to the library, where Harry needed a book for one of his papers. They reached for each others' hand at the same moment, their fingers entwining as if they were made to fit.

That's how they entered the library and when they got into the stacks, she pressed him to the shelves and kissed him. His hands trailed up from her waist to her back. He stroked a hand through her hair, her beautiful, beautiful hair.

She pulled back and he felt a bit dazed as she smiled down at him. She reached above his head.

"Was this what you were looking for?" she asked.

He shook his head, taking the book that he did indeed need. "Are you always so- always this cool headed?"

"That depends on what you consider cool headed," she said, and bent to kiss him again. This time her lips were warm as if she had been sitting before a roaring fireplace. She pulled back and he was pretty sure he wasn't just warm because of the way she made him feel.

Her magic flowed over him like a warm breeze in the heart of summer. "Careful what you ask for, Flyboy," she whispered in his ear, making him shiver.

He really wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he spoke without thinking. "I really do need that book to finish my paper."

She rolled her eyes, "You are so studious."

He snatched the book from her, "Sorry if I don't want to fail."

"I thought you would be more concerned with surviving than your grades."

"I am, but doing well in my classes _is_ helping me survive. And well… It is different then it used to be. I mean no one's ever cared if I do well in school. Also this…" he took a deep breath.

"The Dursleys used to get mad if I got better got better grades than Dudley. I literally had to stop studying and had to knowingly write in false answers. I had to do get just enough right to still pass the year and get below, or even with him. But now? Now, I don't have to goof off with Ron to be his friend, or not try as hard to make Hermione feel better about herself."

Fleur frowned, "She wouldn't do that, would she? Besides, you two are still friends."

"We are, but we only have two classes together. Hermione isn't like that consciously, but she tries harder than anyone and it does sort of rub her the wrong way if someone beats her. She doesn't do it on purpose though."

"I can be like that," she noted.

Harry grinned, "I know."

She batted his arm, "Alright, Flyboy, I brought a novel. I'll let you get to work on your paper."

An hour later found them back to back on a window seat in the index section of the library. Rarely did anyone wander back there because it was a bit too close to Madame Pince's office for most student's comfort, and the books had long ago been reordered and updated. No one needed to look up a book in the old index, and even if they did, it likely wouldn't help them find anything.

Harry suddenly felt her body shake. He paused in his reading, turned his head to look out of the corner of his eye. She shuddered again.

"Fleur," he began, worried she was about to cry. "Are you alrigh-"

But before he could finish, he had turned and she had fallen into his lap laughing.

Smiling, he asked, "What's so funny?"

" _Il! Il, et puis elle …_ " she fell into another round of laughter.

"Shhhh," he shushed, though he couldn't keep the amusement off his face, "You will get us in trouble."

She put a hand to her mouth to suppress the laughter. But her body was still shaking and there were tears in her sapphire eyes.

Harry stroked her hair back from her face as she slowly regained control of herself. She looked so incredibly beautiful like this. He liked that she could find so much enjoyment in a book. He didn't read fun books at Hogwarts much, but at the Dursleys... books were his only friends, his only glimpse of freedom. In a book, he could set aside his own reality and get lost in someone else's adventures.

Fleur managed to collect herself before she sat up and kissed him, which he returned with just as much enthusiasm.

"What was so funny?" He asked again, a little breathlessly.

She grinned, "Just a scene in a book. Something to do with a brother, a supposed brother, and a half sister. Learn French and you can read it too."

He shook his head, "I can't learn another language overnight."

"But you have to practice."

He signed, "Does that make you my tutor or my teacher?"

She learned in closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his right cheek, "Tu es beau."

"What does that mean," he asked, his eyes fluttering shut as she began to trace his scars.

"You are handsome, Arry," she murmured, leaning ever closer.

He didn't get his paper done until much later that night. He wasn't certain how much of the French he had learned that afternoon he would be able to use in polite company, but he wasn't complaining.

* * *

Everything had been going so well for Harry of late, it should have been a warning.

Before he could even make it to the great hall that morning, Fleur caught up with him. She greeted him first with a kiss and then with an apology.

He put his hands on her shoulders, "Fleur, English, slow down, and tell me what on Earth you have to be sorry for."

"The papers," she said, looking more worried than she had before facing a dragon.

"What about the papers? I got all of mine in on time. I think I might have a chance of getting something above a P this month."

She shook her head, her hair fanning out around her, "No, Arry, the newspapers. We are in the newspapers, and it's bad."

Harry sighed, "Do you have a copy? Let's see what rubbish they cooked up this time."

HARRY POTTER SEDUCED AND BETRAYED INTO GIVING AWAY HIS VICTORY FOR HOGWARTS

 _Harry Potter, Hogwarts Champion in the Triwizard Tournament, is the youngest champion of the three. Mr. Potter's best friend, Miss Hermione Granger, fell prey to the bad-boy wilds of one Viktor Krum, Durmstrang Champion, who is currently leading in the tournament._

 _Is he taking advantage of this young, innocent girl to undermine Mr. Potter? Or is this young 'friend' a young vixen, attempting to use her affair with Krum in hopes to get back at Mr. Potter for advancing faster than her?_

 _Ms. Parkinson, a fellow fourth year, "She's really quite ugly, no one would willingly date her unless they had other motives. And Granger is only top of the year because she tares down and substages everyone around her. Really, it is quite awful to share classes with such an unmanned muggleborn. Poor Potter never made any real friends."_

 _Tragically, Mr. Potter's luck with relationships seems to be just as doomed in his love life._

 _Miss Fleur Delacour, Beauxbaton Champion has used her Veela powers to entrance our young hero into thinking he is in love and loved in return._

 _Why? We must ask ourselves, are the only two foreigners dating the Hogwarts' champion and his best friend? Why are they dating the competition?_

 _Their motives may seem obvious to some; blatant trickery to win by any means._

 _For those who doubt this, let's lay out the evidence, shall we. To begin with, both Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are far younger than either Miss Delacour and Mr. Krum respectively. Then there is the small yet relative fact that Miss Granger with her unkempt grooming habits and Mr. Potter with his numerous scars are not particularly attractive young people. Even if one were to dismiss the undesirability of either Hogwarts student, there is the matter of the tasks themselves._

 _Miss Delacour was able to connect with the dragon on a base level, being that they are both fire magical creatures. She received higher marks than Mr. Potter who met his dragon when it was most enraged. Could the dragon's temper have been Miss Delacour stoking the flames? Could someone be responsible for the weakened dragon chain?_

 _Could Mr. Krum have been involved as well? His own dragon encounter -in hindsight, appears astoundingly easy. Did he really send a dragon to sleep with one shot on his own? Could he have roped the clever-head-of-her-year-Granger into helping him cheat while her 'best friend' was nearly toasted?_

 _Certainly a possibility that should be further examined._

 _But our most compelling evidence to call foul play is the second task. Where again, Mr. Krum seemed to pass without difficulty. And as for Miss Delacour… Mr. Potter lost twenty out of fifty points, putting him in last place in order to save, Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur Delacour's younger sister. If it isn't apparent that Fleur Delacour seduced Mr. Potter into doing the dirty work for her and ruining his slim chances at winning the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts…_

Harry snapped his fingers letting the paper burst into flame, a trick Fleur herself had taught him. Though she didn't need a spell to summon fire.

"Hey!" Fleur exclaimed, " _Merde,_ Arry, why-?"

"Because it's rubbish, Fire Girl. You think I care what a bunch of strangers think of us. You are the single best thing to ever happen to me since I found out I was a wizard."

"But people are already angry-"

He cut her off, "Then let them be angry."

"Arry, you-"

"Don't you dare say I don't understand. That article was cruelly written, to all of us, and it was filled with more fabrications than any decent newspaper should ever publish. But that's beside the point. People have been making stuff up about since before I knew magic was real. You should have heard the things people said in my second year when everyone believed I was the Heir to Slytherin because I could speak Parseltongue."

" _Mais_ , the entire school is against us." She looked at him as if searching for some hidden hurt.

He clasped her hands in his, "It's going to be alright. New rumours always start up and people will forget this nonsense soon enough."

She squeezed his hands and bent to kiss him. They entered the hall hand and hand. Almost all of the Hogwarts students were glaring at Fleur.

But it seemed now that she had Harry's support, no nasty look, no snide comment could touch her. She raised her chin and observed the world around her imperiously like she was an empress of ice, rather than the free-spirited with a heart of fire who Harry had come to know.

With her at his side, he felt confident too, and not because she was so amazing, intelligent, talented, and beautiful that anyone in their right mind would be jealous of him for being the one to be at _her_ side. But rather, it was because no one else's opinion mattered more to him than hers. And remarkably, against every odd, she respected him, and he couldn't belittle that gift by acting as if he was undeserving.

Whether he deserved anything or not wasn't the point, the point was that he wanted to be her equal, to face the world with her, to be as brave as she was.

The moment they sat down at the Gryffindor table the twins started in on them, _loudly._

"Oh Fred! It's the seductress and her lamb!"

"Poor, little lamb, Potter," George said mournfully. "His heart ripped out of him before he even had a chance to live. All his prospects laid to ruin!"

"Stay strong, ' _Arry_ ," Fred fretted, "You can break free of her, just stay strong! I'm sure there is someone suitably _undesirable_ to put your broken, shatter, shriveled, crippled, betrayed, lonely, abandoned heart back together."

"Oh 'Mione!" the twins cried in unison, switching to Hermione as she approached, "How can we free you from the wilds of that _bad boy?_ "

"Oh shut it," Hermione snapped as she and Viktor sat down beside Harry.

The twins broke down into hapless laughter.

Fleur, Harry, Hermione, and Viktor rolled their eyes in unison.

* * *

"Try harder, Potter," Moody growled.

The tidal wave rise in his mind. The war inside creating a cacophony, push harder, pull back, _too much, too little._ _Not good enough._

"Not good enough, Moody echoed his thoughts. "You're enemy won't be so soft on you."

"Professor-" George warned.

"Stay out of it, Weasley."

"Sir," Fred tried.

But whatever he was saying was lost on Harry. He couldn't see, well, he could physically see but he couldn't focus on the images around him. He was lost in the power roaring in his mind. A symphony, a stampede.

A soothing touch, a wildfire.

Consistent, irritating.

Steady, out of balance.

He fought himself, fought against whatever it was that Moody was using on him. It wasn't the imperius, but the magic felt dark, oily. He didn't want it touching his senses. But whatever it was, was strong and cloying. It made his magic both want to sync with it and repel it.

"You're not even trying, _boy._ "

Harry lost the fight. His magic lashed out from him.

Everyone in the room was thrown to the ground. Moody on his wooden stub hit his head on his way down. Every single window in the room blew outwards. The instruments and objects on Moody's desk dented and broke.

Someone screamed.

Harry ran, his magic following him as if he were the eye of a hurricane. The windows in the hall blew out as he passed them. He saw a group of people coming around a corner, headed in his direction.

 _No!_ _I'll hurt them, I'll hurt them!_

So he took the only logical avenue available to him.

He jumped out one of the windows. And it was just his luck that he had jumped from the side of the castle that had the longest drop.

For most people, plummeting a couple hundred feet was terrifying, but Harry was a Seeker and rather used to the experience. The wind in his face actually cleared his mind. With a guttural shout, he directed his magic in front him. The air buffed against him, he slowed, but he flipped over and over, like twirling leaf. He had to create a constant force of air around himself. He barely had enough time to pull it off, it was as if he was using the wind to fight gravity. His glasses were ripped away and judging the distance to the ground became impossible.

Not that he had to wait long to find out.

When he hit the ground it did hurt. Landing on his side, he groaned, knowing that he would be a mass of bruises. But he hadn't felt anything break, he didn't even feel a sprain. He rolled onto his back. He summoned his glasses, clumsily putting them on his face. He looked up and up at the window he had jumped out of.

 _I should be dead_ , he thought, and his next thought was, _I better get back to the castle or Fleur will kill me._

He got to his feet, feeling exhausted and each and every bruise, but his mental magic had receded to a manageable press. He sighed, not even this incident had drained it completely. He made the long trek to the side entrance. His tired legs making each step feel like twenty.

Professor Flitwick found him first and directed (ordered) him to the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey was beside herself. "I should just keep you here, or at the very least get you your own bed."

Fleur found him sometime later as he was attempting to get his shirt back over his head.

Her gasp of horror made him flinch. Logically, he knew she was likely reacting to the truly spectacular array of bruises along his side. Dark blackish, purplish, bluish blotches colored his pale skin along his left arm and ribs and torso, the edges of which were a lovely shade of yellowish-green. But the unlogical part of him that he thought he was overcoming thought she was repulsed by the burn marks on his otherside.

He turned his back on her.

Fleur being Fleur, just marched into his line of sight. He thought she might comfort him with cooing like Mrs. Weasley sometimes did, but she didn't.

Fleur's eyes were very serious, very steady as they caught his gae. "You could have died," she said gravely.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the simmering emotion behind her grave tone. "I could have killed someone. Multiple someones, it was only dumb luck that no one but me got hurt."

She touched his face, "Look at me, Flyboy."

He opened his eyes warily.

"You are not allowed to die on me."

"I could of _killed_ people, Fleur!"

"You nearly killed _yourself!"_ she retorted.

"You don't think I know that? I don't want to die, but I don't know if I could live with myself if hurt someone like that."

"Arry…" she sighed, "It is not your responsibility to save everyone."

"No, it isn't. But I am responsible for the choices I make."

"Well, instead of making the choice to kill yourself, maybe you should control yourself!"

He felt his temper spark, "You don't think I was trying? You don't think that's what I have been working my butt off since I got these damned scars? You have no idea how hard this is to control!"

He didn't mean to shout, and he regretted it the moment after the words left his mouth.

In one moment, Fleur stood before him as cold and impenetrable as a block of ice, and in the next, he found himself surround by an inferno, the flames were hot, and far, _far_ too close.

But before they could scorch his skin they were gone, like someone had blown out a candle rather than a wildfire about to eat the room they were in.

She took a step toward him, he refused to be intimidated by her height, or let her see how unnerved he had just been, "I know what it means to be out of control. I remember what it was like, I see what my sister is going through now, and you might think you're special, Flyboy, but remember this; you aren't alone, and you're not the only one to struggle with their magic."

He looked away, ashamed to say that's exactly how he felt. "What was it like growing up with Veela powers?"

She sighed, her anger passing as quickly as his had, "It can be quite dangerous. Our parents had to flame retard our rooms because Gabrielle and I would start fires in our sleep. The allure is difficult in other ways. People think it is such a boon to be able to seduce men with a turn of a head, but in reality, when you are little-" she swallowed hard, "When you're eight and catch the eye of an old man with minimal self control and-" she cut herself off.

"Fleur," Harry said, not sure what to say, not sure if she would want him to touch her.

She shook her head, "Nothing happened, Harry, nothing. I swear it. My father wasn't that far away, but that day was a cruel wake up call. I was so young, but I'll never forget the way that - _le bête_ looked at me, nor will I forget my parents' explanation of why he had been trying to lead me somewhere out of sight. There are truly evil people out there, and magic can be a lot more unpredictable and much more indifferent to the danger we find ourselves in than most people would have us to believe."

"I'm sorry for losing my temper," he said softly.

She shrugged, making the gesture look graceful, " _Pas de soucis,_ I lose my temper all the time. Now, do you want help putting that shirt on?"

Harry looked down where his long sleeve shirt was part way up his forearms. He grimaced, "Please?"

It was embarrassing to have her help him. It was hardly the most painful wound he had ever received, but the bruises were sensitive, and made him feel like his left side was trying to secede from the rest of him with every heartbeat.

"Thanks," he said after she had gotten the shirt on him with the minimal amount of pain that was possible.

" _De rien-"_

Madame Pomfrey pulled back the curtain back, "Potter. Bed. Now."

Harry huffed but did as ordered.

Madame Pomfrey turned on Fleur who glared at the older witch, "I'm not leaving, don't waste your breath trying to tell me otherwise."

"You must let him rest."

"It is the middle of the day," he protested.

"He can rest just fine with me here," Fleur said ignoring him.

"I feel like an invilad," Harry quipped.

" _Parce que tu es un,_ " Fleur said, turning to glare at him over her shoulder.

He grinned at her, not understanding the individual words of what she had just said, but he got the idea.

"If you stay then it becomes your responsibility that he rests and doesn't sneak out."

Fleur nodded solemnly, "Accepted."

Madame Pomfrey made an erm-hmm noise before marching off to her other duties.

Fleur pulled back the curtains and climbed onto the small bed with Harry, she was above the covers, he was beneath them. He was resting on his right side, and his left was so bruised she couldn't so much as rest a hand on his side without causing him discomfort.

They ended up holding hands in the limited space between them.

He must have been more tired than he had accounted for because in between staring into Fleur's blue, blue eyes and blinking he was having trouble keeping his eyelids open.

"Arry," she murmured so softly he wasn't sure if he had dreamed it. His eyes flicked open and he fought to focus on her, she leaned closer, sharing his pillow, their foreheads touching. "You're the greatest thing to happen to me since my sister was born."

Sleep claimed him before he could respond, but he fell into his dreams with a smile.

* * *

AN: More sap and my learning curve to writing teenage romance. Please review with thoughts and reactions?


	10. Trust Me

Author Keynote/Warning: You are either going to love me or hate me. I tried this before and had to take down the fic. I ask you all to _please_ trust me. I will get you through this. Reminders that my favorite books are mysteries and adult fantasy, not just young fantasy.

Chapter 10 - Trust Me

Was Potter adjusting well to the Dark Arts? Yes and no.

Severus didn't know how far he could push the boy. But he was beginning to have suspicions about Moody making the decision for him. Although Potter's latest incident that found him back under the tender care of Madam Pomfrey was certainly a feasible occurrence given the nature of his magic and his lack of control over it. However, the Weasley twins description of the incident was making Severus believe that the Dark Lord's inside man was the Auror.

which made little sense, seeing is Alastor Moody would sooner take a ballet then consider working within the dark side much less for the Dark Lord.

Nevertheless, Severus had his orders, and in an unlikely series of events, Sirius Black, of all people, had presented him with the perfect excuse to bring Potter closer to him.

Occlumency was not a branch of magic Severus enjoyed teaching. He wanted no part in the boy's memories, or personal issues, or Merlin take him, the boy's 'feelings.' But some things were necessary, and it seemed with a bit of encouragement the boy was not terribly dense in advancing. In fact, his strength of will was nearly frightening in its intensity. His direction and order of mind were less so, though that did present different challenges, ones that would not be completely insurmountable.

"You must control your thoughts, Mr. Potter," Severus coached as polite as he was physically able.

He was sweating, his breathing heavy, but he took a deep breath has Severus had taught him and seemed to balance himself.

Severus made one final plunge, the boy defense held for only a moment before Severus was able to skirt it.

He sighed, pulling the spell back, "I believe that is enough for today. You need to start working smarter not harder."

The boy only ran a hand through his sweaty hair, frowning at an internal thought, his gaze distant.

The scars seemed to bother him less now, but after Black's letter, they had begun to worry Severus more. Black hadn't given him details, but he had alluded to enough to make Severus wary, warier than he had already been about exposing the boy further to the Dark Arts.

"I would like you to practice this spell," he said, offering his student a rolled piece of parchment he had copied from a book that if Dumbledore knew he had, he would have likely burned down Severus' entire personal library.

"What does it do?" he asked, taking it and shoving it in his bag.

"A water spell that can control the flow of water," which was the absolute truth. Severus just conveniently left out the part where it was used for starting floods and parting rivers. "Practice on the lake."

Potter scrunched his nose, "Fleur won't like that."

"I don't care what your girlfriend likes, you are not to share the spells I give you with anyone, do you understand me?" Severus snapped and instantly regretted his moment of temper. Ordering the boy to do anything almost ensured the opposite response.

But, surprisingly, the boy didn't rise at his tone, and calmly asked, "Why?"

Severus went with the basic truth, stripped of the possible legalities. "Because these spells are dangerous."

"Then why give them to me?"

"Because you are dangerous."

"Why give a dangerous person dangerous tools?"

 _Most excellent question._ Aloud he answered, "At the rate you are excelling, Mr. Potter, you might just kill someone with a levitation charm. This spell requires a mass amount of power to even activate, and much, much more concentration than you have thus far demonstrated in order to wield it. It is likely that all you will get is ripples, perhaps a few splashes."

"Can you wield the spell, Sir?" he asked tentatively.

Severus nodded, "I am perhaps not the most powerful wizard of my generation, but what I lack in raw strength I make up for in concentration."

"But I thought you said it needed a mass amount of power."

Severus gritted his teeth and just barely kept from growling, "The thing one learns with experience is that smaller amounts of power can be directed at pressure points that can move forces that ordinarily wouldn't be moved."

He frowned, "That sounds like physics."

"You would be surprised how much physics and metaphysics overlap."

"Yeah, you know, except for the whole matter can be neither created nor destroyed."

"Who is to the say the muggles have reached the limits of the scientific understanding? And how do you know so much about muggle physics?"

"I don't sleep well at the Dursleys so I end up reading all of my cousin's books out of sheer boredom."

Severus raised his brow, "As opposed to your summer assignments."

"The Dursleys don't let me have my books, I have to sneak them up to my room and can only write my papers under my covers by wand-light. And how do _you_ know so much about muggle science?" Potter asked before tacking on, "Sir?"

Severus glared, "You are dismissed, Mr. Potter."

The boy left, though not at his usual running pace.

Perhaps the Head of Slytherin House was growing soft. But seeing as he had just given a student a spell that was among one of the most highly addictive in Dark Arts, he doubted it.

Severus went back to brewing a potion for the Dark Lord. An appearance potion that was, as far as he could discern, akin to a perminate polyjuice potion, although it was dark and very illegal. Anything the Dark Lord concocted himself was considered illegal. But as far as Severus was concerned, there were few bad things that could happen if the Dark Lord looked like the Dark Lord. If his 'Master' had found a permanent host than making that body look like Tom Riddle could only help them in the long run.

Severus sighed as he dropped a bit of bone -that the Dark Lord had sent him by owl, into the cauldron. It wasn't the case that Pettigrew could have been given this sensitive task.

Now all Severus needed was a way to let Albus know the Dark Lord was back.

* * *

Harry was starting to understand Hermione's obsession with school. He loved magic, he always had, but after studying and practicing as much as he had been, the magic came to him easier. This may have been due to the fact that there was no cap on his magic. Harry was beginning to think it was some sort of parasite that had been living in his scar.

Something that Sirius had written to him about without detail, pleading with him to start taking occlumency lessons with Snape.

Who had graciously, and surprisingly, agreed to teach. And though Harry hated the migraines, he had to admit that Snape wasn't an awful teacher when he wasn't trying so hard to be an awful person.

But the water spell he had been given, which Harry had kept from Fleur on account that she wouldn't want anything to do with the lake any way, was incredible.

With a wave of his wand he could make the water move. All he had managed so far was getting water droplets to rise, but they looked like little crystals suspended in the sunlight.

Charms was truly his favorite subject.

* * *

Fleur, Harry, and Viktor stood on the Quidditch Pitch that had been transformed into a maze.

" _Won't this be fun?"_ Bagman asked.

The three champions exchanged smirks and they nodded.

An obstacle course? They were all prepared for an obstacle course, they likely all had been since the first task. Of all the tasks they had been presented with, this would be the easiest.

"Good! Well, then I'll be off. See you in a few days." Bagman headed toward the road clearly headed for where the anti-apparition ward ended.

Fleur was nearly skipping on their way back.

Viktor observed her coldy, "You seem to think you can win this, Delacour. I'm still in the lead."

She grinned at him, "I was born for this. I've never met an obstacle course I couldn't conquer."

"Well," Harry chimed in, "I went through my first series of magical obstacle courses in my first year of Hogwarts. I may be the youngest, but I think I'll be champion of this task."

Fleur laughed, delighting in his unusual display of arrogance. Typically the only thing Harry could be arrogant about was his flying.

"And how did that task end?" Viktor asked.

"Voldemort was possessing one of my teachers at the time and apparently due to something my mum did to protect me when she died still worked. I sort of melted his face off and Voldemort's… spirit? Spirit-thing flew off. I woke up in the hospital wing, per usual, but I didn't die and I was the one to get the Philosopher's Stone, not the Dark Lord. So I say it was I won."

At this point, Fleur and Viktor had stopped to gape at him.

"You did what?" Fleur asked.

"You faced the Dark Lord when you were eleven?" Viktor asked, his face a wash of surprise.

"Didn't it make the papers?" Harry asked. "Everyone in Hogwarts was talking about it. Though they seemed to forget in my second year."

"Potter," Viktor began slowly as if he were talking to a crazy person. "No one publishes rumours, aside from your Skeeter woman."

"You don't believe me," Harry said flatly. "Hermione was there, she helped us get through the tasks. Ask her."

"Arry," Fleur hedged, "How could you have faced the Dark Lord and not be dead?"

He shrugged, "I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember? I faced him at the end of my second year too. Some memory or dark curse of his possessed the twin's younger sister, Ginny. Nearly killed her."

"Did you melt his face off too?" Viktor asked.

"Nope," he answered cheerily, "I stabbed his diary with a Basilisk fang."

"Dare we ask where you got the Basilisk fang?" Fleur asked warily.

His grin grew, "From a Basilisk I had just stabbed with the sword of Gryffindor. And before you ask, yes it nearly killed me but Dumbledore's phoenix cried for me and healed my wounds. That's one of the other scars I have."

Viktor and Fleur looked equal parts appalled and astonished.

"Whoever put your name in the Goblet," Viktor declared, "did not have to do anything else but get past the age line. You are Hogwarts best student."

"At least I am the most danger prone," Harry muttered.

"What happened last year?" Fleur asked, "I heard there was trouble with your godfather but the rest-"

"Dementors," Harry said shortly, "I _hate_ dementors." He would have said more but just then a figure ran out from the treeline.

A babbling Crouch who looked as if he hadn't rested in weeks fell at Harry's feet, sobbing.

Or at least who would have if the crazy man hadn't jumped three of the most trained students on the Hogwarts grounds.

Three stunners hit the man, and he collapsed in front of Harry.

Which really didn't look good when Dumbledore and Fudge came upon them.

The three of them stared up at the two adults who glared back at them.

Something heavy fell into Harry's gut at the look of deep suspicion in Dumbledore's eyes. True, Harry hadn't exactly been happy with the old wizard of late, but the mistrust he saw in his eyes was disturbing.

"What did you do?" Fudge demanded.

"We stunned him," they said in unison, although it wasn't exactly jointly as their accents made the sentence sound different from each of them.

"Why?" Dumbledore ask softly.

"Because he was mad," Viktor said, his mask going back on. "He went at Potter, he could have meant him harm."

"You don't hit a mentally unstable person with stunners," Fudge berated.

Fleur answered that with a raised chin, "Subduing a madman seems to me to be exactly what stunners are designed for."

Fudge shook his head and levaited the man, "I'll get him to St. Mungo's. I will speak with you later, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded.

They all watched him head off, aside from Dumbledore who was scanning the trees.

"It seems to me," the Headmaster began, "you all should be getting back to your beds for the night."

"We were going to study in the library togethe-"

"Not tonight," he said, cutting Fleur off.

She glared at him, kissed Harry's cheek, tossed her hair, and then marched off.

Harry watched her go, chest tight. The ruder she acted the more upset or worried she was.

Viktor had almost the same tell, only he grew less talkative and people mistook that for lack of intelligence. One had only to look into his eyes to know the gruff exterior wasn't the full package. He left without a word in the direction of the lake, leaving Harry with the Headmaster.

Once they were alone, he said, "I'm sorry. I just acted on instinct. Do you think he'll be alright?"

"That would depend on what state he was in before he was stunned by three powerful young people."

Harry winced.

"As disagreeable as the papers have been of late, Harry, they haven't been completely wrong. You must be careful of who you give your trust to."

Harry stiffened, "Fleur and Viktor are good people."

Dumbledore kept his eyes on the castle as they began to walk back. "Perhaps. But what of your other friends, Hermione and Ron?"

"I see Hermione a lot, she's dating Viktor."

"So you've become closer to the Durmstrang student as opposed to the person who has been your close friend for years from your own house and school?"

He frowned up at the old man, "Hermione and I only have two classes together now. We are still friends, but I've been busy."

"With Miss Delacour?"

Harry blushed and hated himself for that, "When I have time. I think we spend more time in each other's company with me doing homework more than anything else, unless we are practicing duels or new spells."

"And Mr. Ron Weasley? I see that he hasn't been included in your company at all this year."

He stopped in his tracks, not at all liking the Headmaster's tone. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Dumbledore sighed, "Forgive me, Harry. I am very old and some patterns… well, I have learned to expect the best from you, however, I do ask you to be careful. There are many paths in this world to take. I wish only for you to not be misled down a path darker than it appeared to be."

Again Harry felt a twist in his heart. Dumbledore _did_ mistrust him. "Right," he said lamely, "I understand, it's alright."

He didn't understand and it wasn't alright.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and when they parted, Harry felt as if he had just estranged a very dear relative. He shouldn't have felt that way of course. After all, Dumbledore still hadn't revealed the truth about his parents' death.

* * *

Lunch with the Delacours was an interesting event in Harry's life that took place the day of the final task.

Fleur's mother was a petite woman with golden blonde hair and a pretty smile. As Fleur had told him, Veela blood often skipped a generation, and walking into a restaurant in London (something McGonagall had to sign a waiver for), Fleur, Gabrielle, and even Mr. Delacour received more glances than their Mrs. Apolline Delacour did.

Harry with his scars got him more looks than all of them put together, which was more than slightly embarrassing. He hadn't thought much about his scars lately, the looks people gave him at school were less astonished and less horrified than those around him now.

When they got a table he made sure to face away from the other patrons.

Gabrielle had unabashedly laid claim to his arm the moment they all exchanged greetings. He found her continuous talking adorable and he was fascinated with the way she switched in and out of using French and English. Though he couldn't make out most of what she was saying, here and there, Harry was able to translate a few of the French words.

It seemed Fleur's attempts to teach him weren't completely lost on him after all.

Fleur's mother couldn't speak English at all, or at least not well enough to use it with a native speaker. But she did understand everything Harry said without difficulty, Mr. Delacour translated his wife's questions every now and then for Harry.

He knew that Fleur loved her family and was close with them, but that hadn't really prepared him for how close. The Weasley family was a loud clan of people, the Delacours were a tight knit unit who seemed to adore each other.

And Harry felt very humbled that he was welcomed with them.

"'Arry," Mr. Delacour began, "what are your plans for your seventh year?"

Harry shook his head, "I am just playing it year by year. I am having trouble keeping up with my classes as it is."

"He's doing splendidly," Fleur cut in, "if anything he needs to spend less time on homework." She pouted at Harry.

Harry, in turn, had to look away, when she pouted she both hilarious and virtually irresistible. But he had sworn to himself there would be no more kissing in front of her father.

Mrs. Delacour laughed and said something to Mr. Delacour that had her laughing as well.

Harry tilted his head to the side.

"Mama said Fleur only said that because she wants more of your attention," Gabrielle translated.

Harry flushed but thankfully, so did Fleur, completely ruining her chin raise look.

And so it went. They managed not talk about anything deep or personal or the news or anything that wasn't lighthearted.

Something for which Gabrielle was chiefly responsible.

Fleur and Harry were left to go in Hogsmeade, Mr. Delacour having to pull Gabrielle off Harry and then off her sister.

" _Mais, Papa!"_

" _Non, tu les verras ce soir,"_ Mr. Delacour said.

 _Ce soir_ meaning _tonight_ , Harry assumed he'd said they would see them tonight.

They apparated away while Gabrielle was still protesting.

"I love your family," Harry said.

She grinned, " _Bon,_ because they are a big part of my life."

Yet then, Harry wished very much that he could have introduced her to his parents. Which is when an idea struck him.

He grabbed her hand, "Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

He led her down a path.

"Arry? Don't we need to get back?"

"There is someone I want you to meet."

"In the woods?"

"In a cave, but we need to stop to get food first."

"We just ate."

But she didn't protest further, waiting as Harry stopped to get three meals to go. They headed off back in the direction they had been going.

"Snuffles!" Harry called out at the mouth of a cave.

A large black dog came to greet them, his tail wagging like a flag. His coat was sleek and well groomed, unlike the last time Harry had seen him.

" _Un chien,"_ Fleur breathed, and immediately held out her hand for the dog to sniff.

Snuffles came right to her, but instead of sniffing her hand, he sat primly and offered her a paw.

She laughed and shook the dog's large paw. "You have him well trained."

Harry grinned, "Fleur this is my godfather, Sirius Black, and Snuffles, this is my girlfriend, Fleur Delacour."

Fleur blinked at him, then the dog, and then the dog transformed into a man, and Fleur was at loss of words as Sirius grinned down at her.

"Lovely to meet you in person, my dear. Harry writes about you _all_ the time."

She regained her poise, "Harry speaks of you highly, Mr. Black. He did not, however, mention you were a dog living in a cave outside of Hogsmeade."

Sirius barked a laugh, "I don't live here, I just wanted to be close by for the Final Task. And please call me Snuffles or Padfoot."

"Now that I have you in person, can you please explain what is going on with my scar? I know you know," Harry pressed

"Don't I get a hug first?"

Harry smiled and hugged him in a tight squeeze. Sirius looked much better than he had done. His hair was longer, likely because it wasn't in matts, his beard was trimmed close to his face, and though there were bags under his grey-blue eyes, they were no longer sunken into his face.

"Also I brought you food."

Sirius took the meals gratefully, "Best godson ever."

He grinned but asked, "Now spill about what you've learned?"

"How are your occlumency lessons going?"

"Well, but-"

"But until you've mastered it, I think it is best if I keep that information to myself."

"Sirius-"

"He's right," Fleur interjected.

Harry couldn't help but glare at her.

"I know you want to know. I want to know, but there is power in knowledge. You just told me not a week ago, that in the last four years you have been in direct contact with the Dark Lord twice. Arry, the less he knows the better."

Harry took in a deep breath then sighed, "I guess you're right."

"Do you need to start learning Occlumency too?" Sirius asked Fleur.

She shook her head, "I am human but in some ways I am more Veela to certain magicks. I am not saying if someone worked at it, they couldn't get through my natural shields, but my natural shields are probably better than what Arry could learn in three years."

Sirius grinned at her, "I like you. You've got a good mind on your shoulders. I'd invite you over for the summer, but Harry and I will be in hiding."

She looked at Harry sharply, "You truly aren't returning to the Dursleys?"

"Nope," he said, popping the p. "The papers are going to have a field day with 'Sirius Black Kidnaps the Boy Who Lived.' I plan to laugh my butt off at them all."

"Best be careful that your Ministry doesn't drag you into court for an investigation when you return in September."

"He's a minor. But that's another thing you'll be working on this summer, the law. It didn't help me, but people will listen to a Potter if you speak up for yourself."

Harry looked at his godfather with tired green eyes, "That sounds like wishful thinking."

Sirius clapped him on the back, "One day at a time. Now, tell me, which of you is going to win the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Viktor's in the lead," Fleur began, " _Mais ce sera moi."_

Harry shook his head. "I might not win this tournament, Delacour, but I am so going to win this task. Hagrid is going to release all sorts of beasties in there. I know most of them, also I was born running. You don't stand a chance."

"I am top of my class in _Fitness Pratique_."

"And I'm now top of my class in DADA and we happen to be in the same year now."

"I meant to ask you about that. Fleur, aren't you of age?" Sirius asked.

"I am on the young side of being a seventh year and my parents decided to keep me home an extra year. I am the oldest girl in the sixth year."

"Interesting," he said, his grey-blue eyes alight with some thought or mischief.

"What?" Harry asked, suspousily.

Sirius waved the question away, "Nothing, you two best be getting back. It was wonderful to meet you, Miss Delacour, and Harry-" he pulled him into another bear hug, "you stay safe, you hear me? We are going to be a family, you and I. We just have to get you through school."

Harry held onto the only adult who had ever listened to him, who cared about him because of him not just because of his parents or what he had to offer the wizarding world.

* * *

The lineup at the last task was exhilarating.

All three of them were close friends at this point, and beating each other meant ultimate bragging rights. For the first time this year it felt like a game, it felt like fun.

They were prepared and each of them was likely more dangerous than anything crawling around in there.

The whistle blew and Viktor sped off into the bushes first. The second whistle blew and Fleur who had been smiling when they arrived on the field, didn't so much as give Harry a backward glance as she darted into the hedgerow.

When the whistle blew for Harry, he ran as if the hounds of Hades were on his heels. He paused intermittently to use the point-me charm. He knew he had to go Northeast to reach the cup.

The obstacles started up almost immediately around every other corner, and a couple nasty ones at the dead ends. At times it felt like a classic adventure movie, with projectiles shooting out from the hedgerow and the ground shifting under his feet. The amusing thing was that he avoided half of them by running faster than the spells could ignite, obviously it had been adults not teenage boys designing the speed of the traps.

When he got to a cloud of mist he wondered if it was poisonous. But he could feel the mental timer ticking in his mind. He held his breath and sprinted through it. The world tilted and for a moment he was running on a starry sky, his glasses nearly falling off his face, then the world righted, giving him a moment of vertigo that almost did him in as a blast ended skrewt found him.

It sent a blast at him that he only just avoided. It jumped at him, and Harry's reducto caught it on its soft underside. It didn't even have time to screech as it turned to a pile of ash.

Harry winced, "Sorry, Hagrid."

He went on, happy that he hadn't run into the others yet, though he thought he had heard them a few times around a hedge along the way.

The Sphinx was a pretty cool creature, and her riddle brought to mind Aragon, who Harry sincerely hoped wasn't running around the maze. Hagrid might forgive him the skrewt, but the spiders were the groundskeeper's friends.

"Spider," Harry said with a smile, the Sphinx smiled back and stepped aside with an eerie warning.

"It is best you win, but no matter the outcome I fear you will all lose."

He nearly tripped over his own feet. Looking back at the creature, he asked her, "What?"

She looked at him with fathomless eyes, and she warned, "There is someone else in the maze, young wizard."

"Who?" he asked.

But she had already turned her back on him. He didn't waste time arguing with her. He hadn't managed to get answers out of Centaurs, he doubted he would get them out of a Sphinx. He ran faster, suddenly the darkened maze seemed far more sinister than it had done moments earlier. He came to a semi-clearing and the familiar feeling of being watched came upon him.

He didn't call out, but he scanned everything in sight. He saw the cup, approaching it warily he did some scanning spells that Flitwick had taught him. Honestly, Flitwick was better at Defense Against the Dark Arts than Moody was.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of Mad-Eye Moody. There was something very wrong with the ex-Auror. Something that reminded him of Snape at his worst and most suspicious. Although Snape, the ex-Death Eater, was a lot easier to get along with of late, which just made his unease around Mad-Eye the more worrisome.

Finding nothing on the cup, Harry reached out and grabbed it.

A pulling sensation yanked him up by the navel.

Harry felt sick as he landed on his hands and knees in the dirt. Looked up, he watched the world swirl around him. His vision was spinning but he still got a glimpse of his surroundings before he shut his eyes tight.

 _Was that a tombstone?_

" _Stupify!"_ a familiar voice -that Harry didn't have the time to place, shouted.

The world winked out of conscious thought.

* * *

Fleur was beginning to get frustrated, she had been over the same row of hedges several times. There was a clearing that she assumed one would place a cup, but nothing was there.

"Fleur!" Viktor called out to her as she decided to press forward on the other side of the maze. 'The center of the maze' had apparently been a lie.

She paused, Viktor approached her looking as pissed as she felt. "They lied to us," he said, echoing her thoughts.

"If it's hidden in one of the hedges I am going to beat whoever designed this course with the cup."

"We've been in here for what feels like hours," he said, "We have no way of telling if we are anywhere close to finding it. And who decided it was a good idea to design a course where the spectators can't see what's happening?"

Fleur sighed and they walked around another corner, she was fully prepared to push Viktor into the bushes if she saw the cup. Which gave her the advantage because she knew Viktor was too chivalrous to do the same to her.

Harry would have probably shoved her into the hedge. "Have you seen, 'Arry?" she asked suddenly worried.

"No, but perhaps he is running back with the cup, seeing as I heard him ahead of me an hour or so ago."

"What if something happened to him?" she asked.

"He will be fine," he soothed, but Fleur could see the dawning concern on his face.

They began to search the maze with renewed earnest. And it wasn't for the damned cup.

* * *

When Harry awoke he found himself sitting propped up against a tombstone, in the middle of a circle of cloaked figures in masks.

Death Eaters.

In the circle with him was a man who looked like an older version of the Tom Riddle Harry had seen emerge from the diary in his second year. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, with a handsome aristocratic face, a narrow upturned nose, large brown eyes, arched eyebrows, and thick brown hair that fell to his jawline. He was notably pale but looked more human than the memory of Tom Riddle had.

But Harry would recognize Lord Voldemort no matter what he looked like.

Using the stone behind him for support, Harry found his feet and was very pleased to find his wand was still in his pocket.

Not that it would do him a lot of good. He was outnumbered nearly a dozen to one -by fully grown wizards and the Dark Lord himself.

He was going to die. But he was going to go out fighting like his father had.

Poor Sirius. Poor Fleur. They would never forgive him, or likely, themselves. A vain hope rose in him that his new found strength and wild magic that had been causing him so much trouble would save him.

It was a slim hope.

Voldemort, who for whatever reason seemed to be waiting for Harry to regain his barings, spoke at last, "Welcome Mr. Potter."

Harry said nothing, the Death Eaters said nothing, they waited together in an awkward silence as Voldemort _smiled_ pleasantly at him.

Voldemort continued as if Harry were a dear friend and was being greeted for afternoon tea, rather than him being kidnapped and where now standing in a dank graveyard in the middle of the night surrounded by a bunch of terrorists. "I've just re-acquainted myself with my supporters, but tonight isn't about me, it's about you, Mr. Potter."

Harry braced himself, spreading his feet shoulder width apart and held his wand ready at his side. Tonight would be revenge for his thorating him, for delaying the inevitable that was the evil of the Dark Lord.

"I do not mean you harm, Mr. Potter. I see it in your eyes, you think I mean to avenge myself, to _kill_ you. I assure you that I want nothing of the sort."

Harry felt the suspicion on his face, his utter disbelief. _Does he think I'm stupid?_

"I admit I've made mistakes. But together I believe we can overcome all. The road to greatest is wrought with trials and the road to immortality… well, few have walked as far as I."

 _He talks a lot_ , Harry mused. Throughout the crazy person's monologue, he let his eyes scan the crowd. One stout figure, Harry assumed was Wormtail. The silver hand was new. A wisp of white blonde hair peeking around one of the masks let him know that Lucius Malfoy was among the onlookers.

"Tonight," Voldemort drawled, his voice thick and seductive as honey.

If he didn't die soon, Harry thought he might be sick.

"Tonight, Mr. Potter, you join us. I mean to make you my heir, my right hand. I will bestow upon you what I shall pass on to no other, _immortality._ "

Harry laughed, an abrupt burst of sound.

"You laugh, but I speak only truth. You have but to trust me."

Harry shook his head, "You murdered my parents, you evil piece of skrewt scat."

Weirdly, Voldemort's pleasant expression didn't falter, which was not the short tempered Voldemort Harry had come to know and despise.

"That was a mistake."

Everyone else was masked, but that statement had to be as much a shock to them as it was to Harry. "A mistake?" he asked, annoyed. "Yes, quite the mistake, murdering two people to slaughter a baby. Yeah, a real oopsie there."

"Did Dumbledore ever tell you why I believed you to be such a threat to my power?"

He said nothing. Voldemort definitely had spies at Hogwarts.

"He didn't, of course he didn't. He doesn't trust you. He believes you are nothing but a child, a weapon to be sheltered until the hour you are needed most."

Harry couldn't help himself, "Why then? Why did you kill them? Why did you want to kill us?"

"A prophecy," Voldemort said gently.

Harry felt revolted, " _Divinations?_ You ruined my life because of freaking _Divinations!?_ Who in Merlin's name did you get a prophecy from?"

"Sybill Trelawney, who Dumbledore has protected for all these years."

For a moment the world went slack beneath him. _D_ _runk_ , bumbling, _fraud_ Professor Trelawney had gotten his parents killed. The feeling betrayal ran deep, he had taken a class with her. She was no better than the Death Eaters around him. She was a hack who had destroyed lives carelessly and without regret.

"What was the prophecy? I want the truth before I die."

"You shall never die, Harry, you shall join me and never know death."

But Harry had died at the start of this stupid tournament, had felt his soul depart his body. He didn't want to die, but he didn't fear death, not like Voldemort seemed to. "Tell me," he demanded.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born(e) to those who have thrice defied him, born(e) as the seventh month dies."_

"That's it?" Harry asked, "How do you even know that referred to me? My parents couldn't have been the only people to defy you three times."

"You weren't, that's why Crouch and the Lestranges tortured the Longbottoms into drooling shells," one of the Death Eaters spoke up.

Voldemort shot a spell at the one who had spoken. The figure fell down to the ground screaming.

"Quiet, McNair," the Dark Lord said shortly.

And there was the Voldemort Harry remembered. This polite, informative, pleasant faced man was all for show, nothing but an illusion.

 _Neville…_ Harry's heart broke for him. He had lost his parents just as Harry had, for the same pathetic reason. He wished he could have told him. He would have liked to know. Not that knowing made it hurt less but still, he would have liked to know.

"Harry, it was a mistake," Voldemort said coaxingly.

"You certainly are," he responded drily.

"I give you only truth tonight. I believed a prophecy when I should not have. Prophecies only have the power we give them. I hear you are powerful. But not as powerful as I. I hear also that you have no control. Join me, Harry, and I will teach you control."

He shook his head and raised his wand, "Thanks, but I would sooner die. And unlike some people, I know there are worse fates then death."

"Where there is life there is hope, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, for all the world sounding and looking like a father trying to give his son advice.

Harry realized for the first time that he was being serious. It was probably still a trap of some sort, but he truly wanted him on his side. For the moment.

 _What would Fleur have done?_

She would have played him like a fiddle.

Could Harry do the same? Could he play the Dark Lord who was playing games on him? Could he beat him at his own tricks? He had bested him twice already. _Maybe, just maybe…_

"Your eyes, Harry, so expressive, you want to trust me, I see it. Dumbledore gave you not but lies. Locked you up with a family of muggles who hated you, allowed your godfather to be sentenced to a lifetime shared with Dementors, all the while asking you to fight me, raising you to sacrifice your life at the megeriest of chances you might be able to harm me."

His mind was spinning, _how do you play someone who had been manipulating others for decades?_ "You said where there is life, there is hope. If you truly believe that, if you believe that killing my parents was a mistake, then you will heal the Longbottoms."

There was stirring among the onlookers, mutterings, and a single chuckle.

Voldemort smiled slowly, clearly believing he had caught him, "The Longbottoms were Aurors who locked up many of my followers."

"No one deserves to be tortured into insanity." _Except you._ "Besides, you want me to join you, and I'm probably less likely to join you than even they are."

Voldemort laughed, "So to prove myself to you my sincerity, you want me not only to cure the Longbottoms but convert them to my side?"

What he wanted was to get away safely and for Voldemort to crawl into one of the graves and stay there. But that wouldn't be very playful, would it? "Yes," he said with more bravado than he felt, "I want them healed. If after they have been rejoined, _safely,_ with their family, and they then tell me to trust you, after they are allowed to live out their lives in safety and sanity, I'll trust you."

Which seemed about as likely as Voldemort marrying Albus Dumbledore.

"Consider it done, Mr. Potter."

He blinked, this was all too surreal.

Voldemort took several steps forward.

Harry took several steps back, bumping into the tombstone.

"Give me your arm."

"No," Harry said instinctively.

Voldemort sighed, looking like a disappointed teacher. He raised his bone white wand at him, "What you ask will take time, but you must bare my mark before I return you to school."

Harry was done talking. He lashed out, silently casting a reducto that Voldemort just managed to side step. McNair wasn't so lucky, the spell caught his left arm, and it along with a tombstone behind him, exploded in blood and stone dust.

Voldemort laughed, sounding utterly delighted, as McNair began screaming again.

"Very good, Mr. Potter, very good. You will be an excellent Death Eater."

Again, Harry's only response was a spell, and another and another.

The other Death Eaters wised up, getting out of the way who calling up shields.

Voldemort flicked aside each of Harry's spells as if he were batting away tennis balls.

"Straight back, Mr. Potter. Don't forget to breathe, Harry. Keep your focus on me but use your peveril version to keep track of your surroundings." Voldemort kept giving him advice as Harry kept pushing the attack.

Merlin take him if it wasn't good advice.

Harry almost scored a shot, his disarming charm catching Voldemort in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

Which is when the 'duel' changed, and Voldemort began to press the attack. Harry's shield charms were damn near invisible, and nothing Voldemort threw at him got through.

That was until he used one of the unforgivables.

" _Crucio_."

Harry yelped, but before he could fully register the pain, the curse was lifted. It was akin to a love tap, only with cattle prod.

"Only physical objects or beings can stop an unforgivable, Harry, remember that," Voldemort instructed, quickly crossing the distance between them.

Harry raised his wand, but he was too slow. Voldemort struck him with a spell that paralyzed him, so that he crumpled to the ground. Still awake, still conscious, as the Dark Lord grabbed Harry's left wrist, carefully folding back the sleeve of his robes.

"Maybe not tonight, Mr. Potter, or tomorrow, or even within the next month or two. But soon, very soon you will see where you belong. You will come to me of your own volition." The tip the bone white wand touched his arm.

He would have screamed if he could have, the other Death Eaters closed ranks around them, they began chanting, and when Voldemort ceased branding his arm with molten-hot-needle-like pain, they clapped.

Harry could move again, he looked down at his raw arm, where a tattoo of a skull and snake was now permanently ingrained into his skin. He looked up at Voldemort's smiling face.

"Welcome home, my son," the Dark Lord said to him, and bent to kiss his forehead.

At this point, Harry was going into shock. He was as paralyzed now as he had been under that spell. Metal touched his hand. As the Dark Lord stepped away, Harry was again yanked by his navel, and thrown unceremoniously through space.

He landed on a heap on the ground, back on the Quidditch pitch, back in the middle of that damned maze. He had just enough presence of mind to turn onto his side as he threw up into the grass.

He hurt, he was afraid, and he did not have the foggiest of ideas about what had just happened to him or what it would mean.

 _Where there is life, there is hope._

Harry became re-acquainted with lunch the Delacours had so kindly treated him to. It did not taste better a second time.

* * *

AN: There goes the fluff. That was a long chapter with weeks of forethought, this story has a hefty plot now. Please share with me your thoughts and reactions, pretty please?


	11. Champions

KEYNOTE: That Dark Mark is given personally by Voldemort as a sign of honor and loyalty. As the Mark summons his followers to meeting points nobody wants a traitor bringing Aurors with them. Harry can't apparate, so Voldemort has two years before he either seduces or kills him.

AN: I feel your anger, but guys I had a dragon toast Harry in the first task then had Albus Dumbledore kill him, what were you expecting for the Final Task? Harry to win because he shits rainbows. If you wanted this fic to continue to book six, it needed an entertaining villain. Maybe not for your enjoyment, but for mine and without my enjoyment nothing gets written, does it? Disorder of the Phoenix, aside from being my first fic, failed because I waviered because of crappy reviews like the ones I'm getting now. I don't apologize for having a plot, I am having far too much fun ;)

Chapter 11 - Champions

"Potter," a voice growled from behind a hedge as Harry got shakily to his feet.

"Who's there?" Harry called, raising his wand, though it shook violently.

He kept telling himself that he was alright, that he was alive, that he would find a way to _kill_ the Dark Lord and put this nightmare behind him.

A man, who looked like a younger, yet more battered version of Crouch emerged behind a bend of greener.

"Who are you?"

"The Dark Lord let you live. What did he say? What did he do? Did he punish them? Did he punish the others for betraying us?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"What did he say, Potter!?" the man shouted, the look in his eyes was all Harry needed to know that this man was insane.

He backed up a few steps.

"What's that on your arm?" the stranger asked abruptly.

Harry yanked down his sleeve, "Nothing, nothing," he said lamely. It clearly was not 'nothing,' anyone could have read that in his reaction.

"He marked you? But it is an honour… An _honour!"_

Which was Harry's cue to leave, "I don't want your damn honour."

" _Crucio!"_

Harry spun, the curse missing him. He started running. He had lost one fight today he didn't want to lose another. Dumbledore was on the other side of these stupid hedges. He just had to get to Dumbledore.

" _Arry!"_ Fleur shouted.

"Run!" Harry shouted back, catching her arm and turning her back the way she had come.

"What's going on?" Viktor demanded, running with them, "Where have been?"

A jet of green light burst behind their heels. "Run! He's going to kill us!" was Harry's answer.

Fleur, Harry, and Viktor ran in step with each other. Whoever the bastard was behind them couldn't keep up with three athletically trained teenagers. His curses, however, had a longer reach. Bushes were charred and melted intermittently.

"Where were you? We've been looking for hours?" Fleur asked, her breath only slightly breathy.

Harry's response wasn't even a full sentence. "Cup. Portkey. Voldemort," he painted.

"What?" Viktor demanded.

"I will _kill_ you, Potter! It was me who was supposed to be rewarded! You were supposed to die! I will _kill_ you!"

His subsequent curses missed. Fleur turned and shot a spell over her shoulder while running.

There was a yelp and they gained a few more corners. Harry was following Fleur and Viktor who apparently knew the maze well enough now to not get lost. Until they hit a dead end.

Viktor sent a blasting curse into the leaves, it was absorbed. Harry used the same spell as did Fleur. Their three joint spells made a ripple and a window, but the hedgerow grew back before they could have jumped through it.

They all cussed in their native languages.

Fleur stepped in front of them and sent a fireball so big, so hot, the flames were blue-white.

The hedgerow did not grow back, but the flames didn't expand after Fleur let her power recede.

They ran through. A skrewt came at them which Harry reductoed so violently that not even its magical armored plates could save it.

They ducked around another corner just as their pursuer was catching up to them.

Viktor threw back a returning curse which they heard ping off a shield. "Who is this man?"

"Death Eater, I think," Harry gasped. He was running on adrenaline, he felt both like he could run forever and that if didn't rest soon he would pass out.

Passing out wasn't an option.

Suddenly, a fire started up behind them, a fire that grew large and furious behind them. There were screams throughout the maze, as if the creatures for the task were fleeing for their lives too.

Harry spared a thought for the Sphinx he had met.

The fire grew, Harry and Viktor cried, " _Fleur!"_

"It isn't me!" her voice was high pitched with panic.

They all glanced back; shapes of magical creatures rose and fell in and out of the inferno, a silhouette of a man walking through the blaze, the fire spilling from his wand.

 _Walking._ Clearly, he thought he had them, and he almost did, the flames were closing in around them fast.

"Fiendfyre!?" Viktor bellowed.

Fleur's cussing was long and elegant as they all pressed forward, faster than they had done before.

They made it back to the entrance of the maze, _finally_.

The professors were all on their feet, wands raised against the flames. A few of the professors who likely weren't as good with defensive spells, such as the Muggle Studies professor and Hagrid were herding the students and other spectators toward the castle.

Harry had foolishly believed they were safe now, there were the professors, there was Dumbledore. But apparently, Fiendfyre was a force of nature that could distract from the Death Eater throwing curses at the champions.

" _Avada Keda-"_

 _Only physical objects or beings can stop an unforgivable, Harry, remember that._

Quicker than he could form words for, he levitated the podium the band conductor had been using in front of himself and Fleur.

"- _vra!"_

Harry had the barest of moments to realize that Voldemort's advice had just saved his life, but then Viktor started dueling the Death Eater.

Fleur and Harry joined him. As did Mr. Delacour.

Incredibly, the wizard was able to hold them all off, the professors still attempting to subdue the flames crackling and hissing behind him.

" _Stupify!"_ Harry roared as someone yelled, "My son! Sto- _No!"_

The crazy wizard fell backward into the jaws of serpent formed of cursed flame. The image of the man bursting into flame seared itself into Harry's memory as the absent judge, Crouch, charged at Harry. Mr. Delacour caught him, holding the man back.

"You killed _my son! 'That's my boy! That's my son!'"_

Fleur wrapped her arms around Harry and pulled him back. Viktor stood between the grieving father and Harry.

They watched as what was left of Barty Crouch's sanity cracked.

Harry's knees went weak and Fleur caught him, falling to the ground with him.

Fudge and Percy led the man off, and Mr. Delacour had joined the professors fighting the cursed fire. It took another half an hour before they were able to vanquish the flames.

Fleur's arms were the only thing keeping Harry together. Viktor stood sentry for them.

"What happened?" McGonagall asked when the pitch was nothing but a smoking scorch mark on the Earth.

Madame Pomfrey fell to her knees beside Harry and Fleur, scanning them with her wand for injuries.

"He was in the maze," Harry managed to say, even though his throat was so dry it was hard to speak.

Pomfrey summoned three glasses of water, which the champions all took gladly.

"It shouldn't have taken you all three hours to find the cup," McGonagall noted, "I was about to go in looking for you."

Mr. Delacour looked to infuriated with the whole situation to speak.

Harry wasn't sure what to say either. He had essentially just killed a man, Death Eater or no, he had still been a person. He thought it would be a bad idea to bring up that he had been briefly kidnapped and marked by the Dark Lord.

He needed to talk to Dumbledore in private, or perhaps Snape. Snape might be able to give him more information if he was in a sharing mood.

"Who got the cup?" Maxime asked.

Harry and Fleur exchanged a glance that said more than either could voice, they turned as one to Viktor and pointed.

His brown eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. He had been in the lead, and though Harry had gotten there first, the cup had not been a victory.

"Durmstrang wins!" Bagman announced jovilly.

There was a profound silence that seemed to take in the three slightly traumatized champions, the enraged healer and father, the wary professors, the charred Quidditch pitch, and the empty stands.

"I hate humans," a female voice said.

Harry turned to see the Sphinx sitting a few yards away from them, as if she were a queen looking over a ruined banquet.

"Where's Karkaroff?" Maxime asked suddenly.

"You don't think he was taken by the flames, do you?" Viktor asked.

Snape shook his head, "He probably ran off with the rest of his students. Coward."

"Where's Alistar?" Flitwick asked.

No one could find Moody and no one dismissed the idea that he might have been taken by the flames.

Madame Pomfrey got the three champions off to the hospital wing.

Once the lights were out, Fleur snuck into Harry's bed. Viktor sat at the foot of his bed. Harry clasped hands with Fleur before he revealed what had been done to him.

"Is he stupid?" Viktor asked in a low voice, "You would never join the Dark Lord."

Fleur nodded, "You aren't the type, even if you were, he murdered your parents. What's he thinking?"

Harry shook his head, "He said Dumbledore doesn't trust me. The Headmaster isn't my favorite person at the moment, but I don't hate him. At least not enough to go dark and give up all my values in the process."

"That mark doesn't make you his slave, but you should still keep it quiet," Viktor suggested.

"I know," Harry said sadly. "But I have to tell someone. The Headmaster will know what to do."

"Tell Severus Snape first," Viktor advised.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because your Dumbledore might be a powerful man, but powerful men sometimes forget what it is like to be small. And if you decide to play the Dark Lord, going to another Death Eater will help your case."

"Viktor," Harry said slowly, "it's a trap. No matter what he says, no matter what he offers, he means to kill me. He just seemed to have come up with some screwed up plan before he beheads me."

Fleur brought his hand to her lips, "That's not going to happen."

Harry nodded, "I'm going to kill him. No matter what it takes. He killed my parents, hurt thousands of people… and now this?" He laid his fingers on the mark that felt charged, like the buzzing of a live wire. "This is a reminder that only way to win is with him dead, _permanently._ "

Viktor sighed, "And so another war begins."

"We will triumph," Fleur degreed, "Voldemort is going to rue the day he crossed us."

Harry laughed, and had to hold his free hand to his lips to muffle the sound.

"I don't think there is anything funny about that statement of fact," Viktor remarked coldy.

Harry shook his head, "It's not that. It's just… well, this is how revolutions start, huh? A couple of kids huddled in a hospital bed, plotting the demise of an evil emperor."

"We are not kids," Fleur said haughtily, "We are Champions."

* * *

The next day Harry found himself in the dungeons. The Hogwarts students weren't overjoyed at the outcome of the tournament, and some were downright awful to him and Hermione. But nobody was really surprised.

Viktor had been slated to win from the First Task.

Karakuroff had never shown up and several representatives had shown up from Durmstrang to bring their students home to celebrate.

Hermione had buried herself in the library after Viktor had set off. They were still dating, but neither was thrilled about the long distance. Though with Viktor graduating and following his Quidditch career full time, they wouldn't have been much closer even if they were in the same country.

Professor Moody was eventually found in a Barty Crouch _Jr.'s_ trunk. Crouch Jr. had been jugging poly juice all year. Hogwarts was just having a bad year in the public eye.

Harry knocked on Snape's office door. The door swung open a few moments later, revealing a snarling potions professor.

"I'm busy," he said shortly.

"I need to talk to you," Harry said, undeterred.

"Didn't you hear me, Potter? I'm bu-"

Harry yanked up his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark.

Snape's onyx eyes went wide, his mouth going slack. "Get in here." He locked the door behind Harry.

"What happened? Tell me everything. Every detail."

Harry told him everything he could remember.

Snape sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face, he got up and pulled a balm out his desk draw. "Put this on. Re-apply it once everyday, it lasts for three days, but get in the habit of applying it every single day. I'll brew more and send it to you. If someone knows what they looking for it won't too much good against a revealing charm. But it will keep it hidden if you are in the shower, or fool enough to wear short sleeves."

"Thanks," he said, taking the balm, and though he could still feel the simpering magic of it, Harry was glad to be freed from the sight of it. "What does it do, exactly, Sir?"

Snape sighed, "He can call you, which will hurt, and do you little good because you can't apparate. And he can use it to find you in return, especially, if you press your wand to it and try to activate the mark. So don't mess with it. It doesn't come off. Trust that enough of us have tried."

"I could cut the arm off," Harry suggested.

"And how would you explain that, Mr. Potter? You suddenly took offensive to your arm and decided to lop it off?"

"Pomfrey could grow it back."

"It's Dark Magic, Potter. It's unpredictable. I can't tell you what might happen if you do that."

"Has anyone done it before?"

"No, because it would have been a waving flag for a guilty conscious. And as of until now, the Dark Mark has never been given to anyone unwillingly before."

"So what do I do?"

"You keep your mouth shut, we play the game, and do our damnest to keep you away from the Dark Lord. It was a full reseraction, I think. Did he use your blood?"

"There was a large cut on my right arm, Pomfrey found it last night."

Severus cursed, "Your mother's blood wards might not work then. _Shite_."

"Wait. What blood wards?"

"Your mother's death, Dumbledore used your family ties to keep you safe. Didn't you ever wonder why you were kept with muggles? There were hundreds of families who would have taken you in. But you were safest there. We will have to find somewhere else for you, but I don't know that we have a choice but to send you back without raising suspicions."

"Can't Dumbledore get me out of this?"

"No."

"But he helped you."

Snape shook his head pulling on a lock of greasy hair, "Dumbledore trusts me."

"Good for you. But why can't he help me?"

"He doesn't trust you, not anymore."

Harry's throat went dry, "Oh."

The potions master sighed, "Potter, listen to me. It is imperative that you keep quiet."

"Why? Why did he even mark me? We all know he wants me dead."

"Because by giving you the mark you can't blab."

"I couldn't have talked if he killed me either, and he could have killed me."

"I don't know why he didn't kill you."

"What would happen if the ministry did find out about the mark? What would they do to me?"

"I don't know."

Harry felt heavier, as the reality of what had happened to him settled on his shoulders.

"Listen to me, Potter. I am going to keep you alive. I am going to keep you alive if it kills me."

Unfortunately, that seemed like an all too likely scenario.

* * *

Hermione was not happy about the Dark Mark and started listing off solutions to removing it. Fleur had helpfully suggested they could burn it off. But Harry decided that Snape was right. The best way to stay alive was to play the game, which meant keeping the mark.

He didn't tell the twins, but he did give the triwizard winnings -which Viktor had left him, to them.

It was the last day of term, and Harry would be headed home. He hadn't told Snape that he would be moving in with Sirius who had spoken to in the fire. Sirius was confident that the Black wards would hold, at least long enough to get them to safety if there was an attack. The Dursleys without the surety of the his mother's blood wards was no longer a feasible option, no matter what Snape assumed.

Fleur tugged on Harry's hand, "It's going to be alright, 'Arry, I swear it."

He looked at her and his heart broke, "I'm going to miss you."

She cupped his face in her hands, "It will be a long summer, but lots and lots of letters. We'll work on your French."

His heart felt sharp in his chest, "It is going to be a long two years, if we make it that long."

She shook her head, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders, shifting in the wind that promised a warm summer. "I'm transferring to Hogwarts for my last year. My father, my Headmistress, and your Headmaster cleared the paperwork. You and I get be in the same classes since they advanced you."

Joy, raw, pure joy filled him. He kissed her, holding her close, and in that moment let all his troubles be for a time.

When they parted, he said, "I love you."

Her smile was stunning. " _Je t'aime, '_ Arry, _Je t'aime."_

They held onto each other, and Harry decided that for this, for this love, for this life, he would do anything, _anything_.

* * *

The train ride back to London was fraught with anxiety. The plan was to pick him up in Surry.

Aurors and Death Eaters would be after them, but the 'safe' options had burned up at this point.

Harry had asked Sirius to put up some extra wardings and alarms around the Weasleys and the Grangers. Sirius had perhaps a bit too much sneaking around the Arthur or Molly spotting him. His description of 'guarding the hen house with barbwire and bear traps' worried Harry a bit. He sincerely hoped he hadn't put bear traps around, Ron would probably step into one.

Whatever Sirius had done, wasn't the same as the wards that would be around their new home, but something was better than nothing.

When Harry had asked about Fleur's household security, she had laughed at him and said, "If my father wouldn't be up on charges for harboring criminals and kidnapping national heroes you could live with us. Anyone who tried to take you would be dead."

It didn't seem like a bad plan to wait out Voldemort there, but where Fleur could take care of herself, he would never ask anyone to put Gabrielle in danger.

Hermione was pretty quiet on the ride back, there hadn't been enough time for her to even begin searching for solutions.

The twins were a bit too preoccupied with plotting their joke shop, to think anything beyond teenage romance being the cause of Harry and Hermione's somber demeanors.

Getting off the train, Harry looked around for the Dursleys, happy that this would be the last time he would do so. Hedwig had already flown off to Sirius' home already, her cage shrunk in a letter he had sent with her.

Lucius Malfoy gave Harry an appraising look as he passed by, as did Nott's dad. Harry ignored them both, despite the crawling sensation on the back of his neck.

The Dursleys were waiting at the curb. Harry placed his trunk in the back without a word, without a greeting. He waved at Hermione and her parents, who waved back cheerily.

The road to Surry was longer than it had ever been before. Dudley mocked his new scars, Aunt Petunia fretted over how they would explain it to the neighbors, and Uncle Vernon decreed that it was 'most fritting, now everyone will see you for the freak you are.'

Harry ignored them too. Freedom was so close, so close he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.

The car parked in the drive.

Harry pulled his luggage out of the trunk and said, "I think I'll go for a walk."

"Be back in time to make dinner," Aunt Petunia ordered tartly.

Dudley took one parting shot at Harry, which he ducked effortlessly. The Dursleys trooped into Number Four Privet Drive without a backward glance at their nephew.

Harry turned away from them, walking to the park, feeling as if his feet had wings. He went to his favorite swing and waited.

It was nearing sundown when a black dog with a sleek coat emerged from the woods. He sat directly in front of him, ears perked.

"Hello godfather," Harry said to the dog.

Sirius gave him a canine grin and wagged his floofy tail energetically.

* * *

END OF BOOK FOUR

* * *

AN: So, assuming you still hate me, I can only say that book five will be far less angsty than the cannon. I am bringing sassy back. Please, please review, share your thoughts and reactions with me?


	12. What A Surprise

AN: Short chapter as the intro to the new book and to see how many people are still interested in this story. The events of the summer will come up over in conversations and Sirius will have some showings, I just didn't feel repeating myself in this or from other fics.

Also, as a personal note, I haven't been doing well emotionally lately, workload and family has been insane, aside from the chocolate covered strawberries for my birthday this week went by about as well as a steel-toed boot to the balls, and I can see that coming through in my writing, so I apologize for that.

* * *

Book 5 - Harry Potter and the Mark of the Serpent

* * *

Chapter 12 - What a Surprise

Despite everything, the mark burning, running away from Aurors -admittedly running away from Aurors was somewhat entertaining, Grimmauld Place, not being able to see or exchange letters with his friends or girlfriend, and Voldemort amassing a secret army; it was the best summer of Harry's life.

Harry had imaged that Sirius would be a father to him, but they were fast becoming like brothers, Sirius being the much older, much more protective brother, but still. They had spent a great deal of their time going to war with the house, which was fun because Sirius let Harry use his magic and the extra practice helped to bring his magic under control, a bit.

Sirius' mother's portrait had not survived that one morning she had jumped scared him on his way downstairs. There was now a giant gaping hole there, much to Kreature's despair.

The poor house elf was mad, but had taken a likely to Harry. And 'like' meaning he didn't curse or whisper in front of Harry and would occasionally take orders from him.

Harry had taken to making meals as Sirius was a poor cook, but in turn, Sirius did all the cleaning. Yes, Harry helped attack things, but Sirius never let him touch a broom or dustpan. And the dishes they did with magic.

And they didn't stay in the house all day either, they spent a great many summer days downtown in Muggle London as blondes, Sirius changing Harry's eyes to blue and the shape of his glasses. They used thick stage makeup to cover up his scar, telling one woman rude enough that he had a skin condition. They looked like father and son, and if any Aurors had been around they wouldn't have recognized them. In fact, the few times the Aurors had gotten a whiff of Sirius is when he popped into Diagon Alley for a Prophet, Hedwig couldn't get one because owls could be seen coming to and from Grimmauld Place. Apparently, the Aurors had registered the stolen wand Sirius had been using, which took the two months for them to realize to discover that was the problem. If Sirius used it in the Wizarding world alarms went off, so he found a second-hand wand from Knockturn Alley.

Regardless, it was a great summer that was coming to an end today. They had apparated to the cave outside of Hogsmeade and Harry was going to walk down to the castle, he had just enough time to join the older years if he left now.

Sirius hugged him tight, and Harry might have complained about _how_ tightly, but he was holding on just as tightly.

Sirius pulled back, leaving a hand on Harry's shoulder, "You all set."

Harry nodded, Snape's balm hid the Dark Mark, it was time to last 72 hours and he had to refresh it every 48 to be safe. Short of Snape's reversal balm -which Snape had not given him, nothing could uncover the Mark except time.

Too bad Harry could still feel the damn thing.

"You are going to be alright," Sirius told him, "You are strong, and you know what's right. It isn't what others do to us that defines who we are, it is our actions that define us. No one can take that away from you."

Harry nodded again. "This is a dangerous game."

Sirius shook his head, "This isn't a game, remember that, Voldemort might be playing and you might be playing along, but you, unlike him, know this is your life."

"It isn't just my life at risk."

"I know, but Harry, you have to believe there is more good in this world than bad. If we just stay strong enough, long enough, we will see that."

Looked at the setting sun, "I have to go."

Sirius gave him another quick hug, and together they said "Stay safe!" as they parted.

They both laughed, and Harry slipped on his invisibility cloak, his shrunken trunk and Hedwig's cage in his pocket -Hedwig had already flown to the Owlery. Harry ran down to the castle at an easy pace, he made it to the tail end of the group getting out of the cages, slipping off his cloak he went unnoticed until he went to take a seat at the Gryffindor table. Hermione hugged him and people started whispering.

One younger Ravenclaw stood up from his table and pointed at him and shouted so the entire room could hear, "Harry Potter!" as if he had found the Golden Ticket from the Chocolate Factory.

Harry stood on the bench and bowed to the room, bowed again to the teachers and then to the Hufflepuffs. A white haired witch from the Ravenclaw table snorted with laughter and said between gulps of air, "He's the Boy Who Lived."

Many others began laughing as Harry sat down. Every teacher was staring at him now, some gaped, others looked angry, the entire Great Hall was a buzz, and those closest were asking where he had been.

Harry's only answer, "Sirius Black isn't a Death Eater, he's my legal godfather."

After this unsatisfactory but controversial statement that passed from seat to seat and table to table like wildfire, Hagrid came in, giving Harry a teary-eyed, relieved smile, followed not long after McGonagall, who -no joke, rolled her eyes at Harry, as if to say, _you should have left a note, brat._

As the din turned to a dull murmur as the sorting started, Harry asked Hermione, "How was your summer?"

She grinned, "Really good, I got to visit Bulgaria to see Viktor's parents, they don't speak much English but I'm learning Bulgarian. I think they liked me. My mum loves Viktor, she thinks he's very handsome."

"And your dad?"

She made a face, "He thinks he's trouble and far too old for me. But then I didn't tell my parents about the Time Turner… so it will work out, you know if we can stay together. Viktor travels a lot for Quidditch."

"You will make it work," Harry said encouragingly. And looking around he saw Fleur enter behind all the first years.

She blew him a kiss and he grinned back, rendered stupidly happy. This year wouldn't be so bad. Only in looking around he noticed the lack of someone.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, "Where's Neville?"

"His parents," Fred said, smiling across from him.

"They were healed yesterday, complete health and sanity," George said.

Harry felt a chill go down his spine, "How?"

"No one knows, the St. Mungo's healers came in one day and they were younger and asking to see their son," Fred explained.

George said in a quieter whisper as someone was sorted into Hufflepuff, "The crazy thing is, they said they saw version, it must have been a dream-"

"Or nightmare," Fred interjected.

"Or nightmare," his twin agreed, "but they said it was You-Know-Who who healed them."

Harry's eyes went wide and he felt the blood drain from his face. It was wonderful that Neville had his parents back but hadn't that been the one thing he asked Voldemort to do. If he could heal _and_ convert the Longbottoms to his side, Harry would be Voldemort's heir. Harry had been lying, Voldemort hadn't been.

Harry was going to be sick.

McGonagall announced to the room as Harry was still lost in thought and his own worry, "And now for our transfer student, Delacour, Fleur."

Fleur strode up the hall, her back straight, not a lick of fear in her.

"Hope she is sorted into Gryffindor," Hermione said.

Harry grinned, "She's certainly brave enough but she's far too-"

The Sorting Hat hardly had time to touch her hair before it shouted, " _Slytherin!"_

"Ambitious," Harry finished with a smile as the Slytherin table roared their enthusiasm.

The food was good as always and the non-normative start of term became more so during Dumbledore's speech when a toad-like woman interrupted him.

Harry had a nasty feeling about her, but really at this point, DADA professors just weren't lucky for him.

Her speech was boring but sinister.

 _Just how far had Voldemort penetrated the Ministry? Is she a Death Eater?_

Though from what Sirius had told him, there had never been that many witch Death Eaters, and there were always more sympathizers and helpers to the Dark Lord than the limited inner circle.

When they were dismissed, Hermione sped off to direct the first years, Hermione and Dean were the new prefects, and Harry elbowed his way to the group of Slytherins.

Their hands found each other and they exchanged a brief kiss before they moved forward the with the crowd. He pulled gently on her tie that had turned green and silver, "What a surprise," he said drily, though the remark was ruined by his smile. Harry had never had a good stiff upper lip.

She swung her arm around his shoulders, "I do love stumping on people's expectations."

"Well then," he said, putting an arm around her waist, "I believe you have the right boyfriend then."

She laughed, her voice music to his ears, whatever apprehension he had for the year to come, he couldn't help feeling that he would be okay.

* * *

AN: Thoughts, ideas, reactions, pretty please?


	13. Coming up Roses

KEYNOTE: Coming back to this story I realized one thing, it is a hundred percent a movie playing in my head. I _strongl_ y encourage y'all to imagine a soundtrack of villianary excellence, click the theoretical play button, and let unfold before your mind's eye the image of Mr. Riddle strutting down a hall, dancing, shooting finger guns to choreographed Death Eaters in masks, and winking at mundanes before he zaps them dead in time with the beat.

Chapter 12 - Coming Up Roses

Possibly Voldemort's only regret of the summer was never finding Harry or Sirius Black. Not a whisper, not an owl, not a single spy had a single thing to report.

But all was not lost, Voldemort took exquisite pleasure, knowing any time he called his Death Eaters, that whatever hole Harry had borrowed himself in, he would be in excruciating pain, unable, due to his lack of apparating ability to answer his call.

And by the time Harry did learn to apparate, either he would submit or he would die. Who was he kidding, Voldemort would still probably kill him, _trust_ wasn't really his thing.

In another time, he would have tried to smoke the boy out, find, torture, and kill his friends until he came crying.

But the game was different this time around. What he hadn't been able to take by force, he would lure with seduction.

Voldemort had made the mistake of treating Potter like a knight or even a queen to Dumbledore's white king. But Harry Potter was nothing more than a pawn, and a white canvas was easy enough to stain.

Though the problem of Harry's lack of communication with the outside world meant it was somewhat unclear who the boy's friends were. According to Voldemort's network, he was best friends with a mudblood and dating the French champion, but if Harry hadn't reached out… it was possible they weren't the additional leverage he had been hoping for.

"My Lord," Lucius greeted, eyes averted as he entered the room, "My son sent news."

Voldemort smiled, glorying in the lips he had to smile, the youth, and independence he had reattained. Immortality achieved, it had only cost a few slices of his soul, no real loss.

"Speak," he said languidly, leaning back in his throne. Malfoy Manor was not the ideal hideout, but at least the Malfoys had adequate tastes in decor.

Lucius dropped to his knees, his failure with the Journal had neither been forgotten nor forgiven, but Voldemort needed the appearance of benevolence. He could always be ruthless later, he, unlike they, had an eternity.

"Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts unharmed, and his girlfriend Fleur Delacour, the Veela Champion, was sorted into Slytherin."

Voldemort laughed, it was so easy, and so much fun. It seemed the Autumn would reap in the harvest he had been tending over the summer.

"And did he give any clue as to where he was? And what of the Longbottoms?"

"He claims that he was with Sirius Black, announcing that Black was not a Death Eater but his legal godfather. Neville Longbottom has remained home with his parents."

"Good."

"Sir?" Lucius asked, then he dared a question, "Why bring the Auror Longbottoms back?"

Voldemort smiled, "Are they back?"

Lucius looked up at him frowning, "They're healed."

"Impudent, but I will satisfy your curiosity, this day. Never let it be said that the Dark Lord cannot be generous to those loyal to him." He tapped his fingers on his throne. "The Longbottoms have already begun to regress I'd imagine. The potion I had given to them, I had found it on my travels, youth at the price of memory. They will begin to fade without either a regular dose to keep them youthful or without the ceremony to cement the change."

Lucius frowned, "So Potter…"

"I have already satisfied the bargain with Potter, but after fourteen years," Voldemort let out a pleased hiss, "What would Lady Augusta do to keep her prized boy alive? She cares more for her son than grandson. A few months of a potion that heals and strips away their memories, again, and again, what would she offer up for a more permanent solution?"

Lucius' eyes were still uncertain, and Voldemort sighed, answering his doubts, "I see your doubt, and no, I do not believe that woman would bargain with me personally or a known… associate. But then I have a few unknown intermediaries."

More than a few. The Order of the Phoenix had yet to assemble, and rather than preparing for war, Voldemort had been infecting the Ministry.

It was the Ministry beefing up its differences, re-electing, reseating key figures running the show, preparing to re-examine laws, and harshening policies. And in the process, it was his people, his sympathizers, those he was slowly but surely constricting a choke hold on that were making waves in politics. The ministry would be his in all things, its resources his.

In some ways, not as satisfying as ought right war, in other ways though, it would be wonderous to have a throne waiting for him when he was revealed.

Voldemort stood and Lucius bowed lower. "As for Harry's declaration, I want rumours spread, I want the paper to print that Sirius Black had Harry under the Imperius Curse. I want the wizarding world to believe not only is Sirius Black a villain and at large, but that he has corrupted Harry. That the poor, poor Harry Potter is a victim, a -how do the muggles put it, suffering from Stockholm Syndrome."

Again, those grey eyes showed doubt, this is what he got for not punishing his subordinates as harshly as he ought, but he needed Draco Malfoy to adore him more than fear him.

"Ask, Lucius," he commanded in a soft tone.

The blonde visibly gulped, "I thought, your new plan was not, that is to say, I thought the plan was to convert more people to our ways, if Black is villainized as a Death Eater…"

Voldemort shook his head, running a hand through his thick brown hair, "That damage has been done. We need the public to pity Potter, to love and coddle him, _or_ to fear and doubt him. Once Black is dead than whatever narrative we create he can't contradict."

"You're so wise, M'Lord-"

"Yes, yes," Voldemort waved it away, he needed the man gone before he lost his good intentions not to skin the fool alive, "Is there anything else?"

"No, M'lord."

"Leave."

 _When can I eat him?_ Nagina asked, slithering out from under the table as the other wizard all but ran back out of the room.

 _Patience,_ he hissed back, _my sweet, all in good time. Today we have, how do they say, bigger fish to fry._

* * *

"Arthur! Arthur!"

"What? What!?" Arthur asked, running down the stairs half dressed.

Molly was holding the paper up, her entire form shaking. "Harry?" she moaned.

The blood drained from his face, "He's not, he's not dead is he?"

She shook her head, back and forth, back and forth, and held the paper out to him.

He took it, but before he could read it, Molly burst into sobs, "He really was kidnapped by Sirius Black. Harry is back at Hogwarts, but he thinks he belongs with his legal godfather."

Arthur's gaze went to the paper in his hands, and he couldn't imagine the horrors Harry had been subjected to over the summer.

"And he says he's okay, that poor, brave, brave boy," Molly said between tears.

Arthur hugged her, "He's back at Hogwarts now, no one can touch him."

* * *

Severus Snape hated his job, truly, honestly despised it.

Some small, broken, beaten part of him _cared_ for these snot nosed, brainless, bullying, lazy, an affront to the human race children. But he did care, beneath all the pettiness and lacklustre teaching, he did care. Which is what made have the Dark Lord back to his full strength such a regret.

And the orders he had been given basically contradicted ever instruction Dumbledore had ever him.

 _Be harsh, be distant, favour your Slytherin students above all others, Voldemort must believe you serve him, and that none of your beliefs have altered in the slightest._

And then the Dark Lord comes back and says: _Teach them everything you know, show them the experimental branches of potions making, and defence if the opportunity presents itself, make them 'want' to be in your presence, become the favourite professor._

Which was basically a one-sixty to his entire career up to this point. He didn't even know how he would explain it. What was he going to say to the other professors, 'Oh yes, I found spiritual enlightenment over the holidays, and I would like to start a new chapter in my life.'

No one was going to buy that. So he had resolved to still be sour, nothing under the sun or stars were going to make him a nice person, but he could be more forthright with his class instructions, perhaps do some demonstrations. He would also have to cut back on taking points and insulting students.

And lucky him, his first class of the day was a first year group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Not for the first time he wished he was dead.

His day did not improve with the morning paper. He had hoped to put Harry out of his mind for a bit, but there it was, an inescapable reminder of his second and third units of instruction from his lord and master.

 _Teach Harry Potter the Dark Arts in 'remedial potions.' Make him want to be a Death Eater, make him a believer._

And his final instruction that was as much his goal as the Dark Lord's, _Keep him alive and away from Albus Dumbledore._

It was probably a bad sign that he and Harry were both in agreement with the Dark Lord.

* * *

Albus was furious.

Rarely had he ever been so- so out of the loop.

Things were changing too fast, both within Hogwarts and outside of it. The government was in flux, people coming into office that Albus had not kept track of and never expected to be given such power.

Was it a coincidence that they were all purebloods and half bloods? He thought not. Though it was more than that, the people walking the halls had a sense of purpose, they weren't just change, they _desired_ change, seemingly more than power, though they were achieving that as well.

He cursed his inability to find a decent DADA professor, Dolores was trouble if he had even seen it before.

And on top of all of it, there was Harry.

Harry who had shrugged off all protection and guidance.

Yes, Albus was aware that Sirius was not a Death Eater, but that didn't make him any less rash, any less dangerous.

But it was more than that, Harry had begun to change, change in ways that he could not perceive.

He glared up at the Headmaster Black's portrait that had remained empty and unhelpful.

A nagging fear was pulling on his mind: _Could Voldemort be back?_

* * *

Sirius was already missing Harry, but now that he was relatively safe at school Sirius could get to work.

Horcruxes.

There had definitely been one in Harry's scar, one that thankfully, despite leaving some residue behind, was gone.

Sirius couldn't say he knew much about Voldemort, which couldn't possibly be his real name. Surprisingly, or rather, unsurprisingly, it was Kreacher who had answers for him.

"Kreacher, if I wanted to destroy the Dark Lord, would you help me?"

The old house elf, who had begun to like him more after liking Harry quite a lot, nodded, "Kreacher will help Master's Godfather defeat the Dark Lord."

It was an insult of sorts as Harry was only the heir to House Black and that he, Sirius was still his rightful master, but Sirius didn't really care. "Great, any idea where to start?"

"Kreacher knows, but you must promise to help Kreacher destroy it." And with that, the elf scurried away, and when he scurried back, he held an old locket.

Sirius took and his eyes widened when he saw the mark, "Salazar Slytherin."

It could have been a reproduction, but real or not, Sirius could feel the presence in it, "Another Horcrux."

How many were there? Sirius need to learn more about the man who Voldemort had been to even guess where to begin looking.

"Master Regulus stole it from a cave the Dark Lord constructed, Kreacher helped."

"Well," Sirius said, "It may take me a while to find something to kill it with, but I will. And in the meantime, perhaps if we can track the history of the locket we can find who last had it."

And maybe, just maybe, if they were really lucky, they would find who Voldemort had been. Though likely Sirius would just find another lacky.

* * *

Harry was taking all the same classes with Fred, George, and Lee, except two. He was still enrolled in History of Magic and Astronomy with Hermione and the rest of the fifth years. Harry was pretty sure he would fail at the NEWT level, but at the end of the years, he would be taking his OWLs. He wasn't exactly clear what he would be doing for the next year or two. McGonagall had made mention of studying to become an animagus and Filius said he might want an teaching assistant, an apprenticeship of sorts.

But regardless, Harry was feeling a bit overwhelmed getting through the year. He had never desired to study more than Hermione, but then it was work hard with his magic or have it overtake him.

And he could feel his magic growing, every day, Harry felt that his control was getting better and every day he felt that his magic was getting wilder.

He wondered if it would kill him.

When he walked down for breakfast he was greeted by whispers.

He sighed, _Typical_.

It wasn't until he sat down beside Hermione that he learned just what the flavour of the whispers were today.

He could have sworn his eye twitched when he read the headline. He should have known that would come back to bite him. The younger students, and even a few of the older ones were looking at him as if he had switched sides.

He sighed again, so it was going to be like his second year then.

"It will blow over," Hermione said, patting him on the back.

"Mum and Dad send their regards," George said.

"There are teardrops on the letter," Fred said, holding up the parchment, "I bet she was hysterical this morning."

Harry winced, he didn't want to cause Molly distress, despite his falling out with Ron, he still thought of the Weasleys as the closest thing, aside from Sirius, he had to family.

They were halfway through breakfast when Fleur came into the hall. Harry couldn't keep the smile off his lips, as she walked to him rather than her table. She bent to kiss his cheek and he said, "Good morning, Fleur."

"Morning Harry," she said, her sapphire eyes warm.

He had worried that so long apart with no contact would put distance between them but it seemed like they would be able to pick up where they had left off. The choice to stop exchanging letters had been by Mr. Delacour after his owl had come back on the second trip to London with ruffled feathers. Whoever had attacked the owl had failed, but it would have been only a matter of time till their letters had been intercepted successfully.

"Did you sleep in late?" he asked.

"Non, I went for a run around the lake."

"I can run with you, if you want the company?"

She grinned, "Only if you can keep up."

He stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed, the sound healing something in him. As good as the summer had been, he was happy to be here with her.

"See you in class," she said, then she bent down once more to kiss his cheek again, before departing to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy immediately tried to engage her in conversation.

Harry bit back a laugh at the crushed look on Malfoy's face at what he was sure had been both a polite and a debilitating remark.

Maybe the year would be a good one after all.

Until Professor Sprout came running into the room, and face red she asked the room, "Who has family in London?"

Half or more of the class raised their hands, Harry included.

McGonagall came down the steps and she had a moment's whispering to the other witch before McGonagall announced, "The first day of classes will proceed as normal as there is nothing that can be done from here, the rest of the week is cancelled. And arrangements will be made for anyone who needs to return home."

"Why?" Harry asked, he was sitting near enough that had they been whispering only a bit louder he would have heard what was said. "What happened?"

"London," McGonagall said, "is on fire."

* * *

AN: As I have stated before, none of my stories are abandoned, and yes, they all have plans but I write like I paint, a lot of picking up, working furiously then returning to later when the joy of it returns to me. This story is one that I'm not sure many would have picked for me to return to but it the one that has the most solid ending.

ANII: Thoughts, reactions, ideas, or summertime penguins? Pretty please?


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